Wolves Aflame (ASOIAF)
by themirrorminder.372259
Summary: Third in line for the throne, Rickon Targaryen wants three things: Shireen Baratheon's hand in marriage, Jon Targaryen's eyes facing East, and Aegon Targaryen's head on a spike. {Robert doesn't end the dragon dynasty & Lyanna doesn't die in a tower} Ft. Rickon (born to Lyanna), Shireen, Rhaenys, CerseixStannis, JonxDany, Aegon, Oberyn, Rhaegar, Tywin, Jaime, Arya, Gendry, Bran...
1. Chapter 1: a river without rubies

**TITLE** : Wolves Aflame

 **AUTHOR:** 372259

 **SUMMARY** : Rickon Targaryen, third in line for the Iron Throne, wants three things: Shireen Baratheon's hand in marriage, Jon Targaryen's eyes facing the East, and Aegon Targaryen's head on a spike. And, of course, to save his sister. {A story that takes place in a world where Robert's Rebellion doesn't end the dragon dynasty and Lyanna Stark doesn't die in a Dornish tower}

 **PAIRINGS:** RickonxShireen CerseixStannis RhaenysxRobb JonxDaenerys (based on what you guys think, I might add some SansaxWillas, Sansa(or Arya)xOC-Arryn, GendryxArya, or AryaxJaime. Always happy to consider requests). If you're confused regarding the Shireen/Rickon pairing and Jaime/Arya pairing options, read anything on AO3 by FrozenSnares or Jillypups for Rickeen, or anything by GilraenDernhelm or Kallypso for Jaime/Arya, and you will find yourself inadvertently shipping these crack pairings as well.

 **Key Characters** : Rickon Targaryen (born to Lyanna and Rhaegar), Rhaenys T., Aegon VI T., Rhaegar T., Lewyn Martell, Jonathor Darry, other Kingsguard members, Oberyn, Tywin, Cersei, Stannis, Tyrion, Renly, Tyrion, Jaime, Arya, Bran, and other Starks (feel free to request others, these are just the ones I have planned so far!)

 **DISCLAIMER:** Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of GRRM. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of writing this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation and anxiety over whether readers will like it enough to review/ hate it enough to flame ;)

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay folks, get ready for some major canon bending. This first chapter will set the scene of a new Westeros, whose political landscape may be a more volatile powder keg than even canon _Game of Thrones_. This chapter is written in more of a **'scene skip/flashback style'** to expedite my delivery of the changed history of this altered Westeros, but I will revert to normal writing in following chapters (see **preview** at end of this chapter for a taste). Despite trying my best to make it clear, I know altered timelines can be muddy and hard to follow along with, so I have added a ' **summary timeline** ' at the bottom for you to help navigate this altered-verse. I'll try to add one to the end of every chapter (based on new information revealed during each chapter). Also, for those of you who start reading this and find yourselves thinking: _'Rhaegar would never do something so dumb!'_ Make sure to check out my rant at the end. I maybe went too extra with his post-war decisions, but I reason his behaviours are affected by his war-time decisions (which again, are changed and will be slowly revealed). Also Lyanna will get redeemed a bit later. Something to know about me as a writer is I am a HUGE fan of **unreliable narrators** , gossip, and rumours - i.e. I like misleading readers using character POV. Please remember this when you read things that make you squirm a bit. Enough of my yammering, on with the show!

* * *

 _"Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince,_

 _and he sank to his knees in the water_

 _and with his last breath_

 _murmured a woman's name."_

 _~ Dany's Vision, A Class of Kings,_ _Chapter Daenerys IV._

* * *

 **.x.**

 **Wolves Aflame**

 _Chapter 1:_ _a river without rubies_

 _(Wars & Whispers)_

 **.x.**

* * *

 **Robert's Rebellion does not end the Targaryen dynasty, nor does Lyanna Stark die in a Dornish Tower**

* * *

 _290 AC_

"The Battle of the Trident took place at a crossing in the Riverlands that is now known as Backbreaker Ford," the Maester begins, before his lesson is (expectedly) interrupted by the younger of his Liege Lord's two sons.

"Maester, Maester!" The guileless boy waves his hand about in the air, in rapid arcs, yet doesn't wait to be called upon before voicing his question. "Why is it called _Backbreaker_ Ford?" He enquires, with a high-pitched voice and widened bright northern eyes.

"Don't be so stupid," snorts the elder brother, from his seat next to the younger. " _Everyone_ knows it's called that because that's where Prince Lewyn stabbed Robert the Wronged in his back."

"Robert the _Rebeller_ ," the Maester corrects firmly. Despite the reprimand, the older boy merely responds with an insouciant roll of his eyes. Then the dark-haired boy turns his attention to fingering the white sun on his dark cloak. He (like his father) remains uninterested in adapting the Crown's moniker for the deceased Robert Baratheon anytime soon.

On his side, the younger brother blusters, rounded cheeks flushing red and puffing up in outrage. "B-but, that cannot be true! Prince Lewyn was a _knight_! There is no honour in stabbing a man in the back!"

The elder boy snorts again, and the Maester makes a mental note to reprimand the heir for this behaviour later. Lords of powerful Vassal Houses do not _snort_. "I overheard father's men saying that Prince Lewyn gave up his honour to save King Rhaegar's life. I heard some of the men even saying that they wished Lewyn had let King Rhaegar _die_."

* * *

 **Rhaegar's army is victorious at the Battle of the Trident, but the Prince does not escape the field unscathed**

* * *

 _283 AC_

Rhaeger barely dodges an enraged swing of Robert's war hammer, a near-lethal attack aimed at his chest. Yet, by turning to avoid a strike to his heart, the blow hits the Targaryen's sword arm instead. Howling in pain, Rhaegar collapses to his knees, roughly greeting the thick mud of the river banks. The fallen prince looks up to meet a storming blue gaze owned by the purveyor of his impending death. Suddenly, the fiercely triumphant gleam of Robert's eyes morphs into shocked horror. Both Rhaegar and Robert look down disbelievingly to see the bloody end of a broadsword emerging from the Stormlander's chest.

And then the mighty Robert Baratheon is no longer storming; the rebeller is coughing, falling, _dying._

"L-Lyanna," The man wheezes, voice as cracked as his body. Robert's revered last word leaves his lips no louder than a whisper, bordered by bright red blood dribbling out of his mouth and seeping into the fleshy mud. With a resounding dull thump, it is Robert - the true victor of their duel - who goes to greet the Stranger.

A soiled knight's boot steps heavily onto the rebellion leader's back. With a great heave, Robert's corpse gets pushed further into the wet muck while his killer dislodges the weapon of demise from the Stormlander's back. As the knight forces the sword out, it splatters Baratheon blood across Rhaegar's chest; the carmine droplets leave a speckled pattern as they land beside the rubies still set in black armour.

 _'_ _Lewyn.'_ Rhaegar dazedly allows the Dornish Prince and Kingsguard to grip his uninjured arm to pull the Targaryen up. _'Lewyn stabbed Robert through the back. I am spared.'_

Rhaegar isn't sure how, but Lewyn eventually gets him into a loyalist medical tent to be assessed. Unfortunately, Robert's final swing had pulverized Rhaegar's right arm. The army's healers say there is no choice but to saw the limb off before the rot can spread. They try to be conservative. But, with each segment they cleave off, they notice more and more corruption.

And so, at the rebellion's end, Rhaegar becomes known as the King with one arm and two wives.

.x.

"The Gods took his sword arm as punishment for his sins." The smallfolk whisper to their children at night. "For dishonouring his loyal lady wife, and for making the Realm bleed."

.x.

 _A golden crown occupies the space on_ _Lyanna Stark's_ _head that was once rimmed with blue roses. Her older brother does not attend the Second Queen's coronation._

"Ned! Ned, please _wait_! You don't understand! I could not spend an entire lifetime trapped and unhappy with that drunken, unfaithful–"

"A letter, Lya." Ned's stern voice interrupts. "Just a few words could have saved our father, our brother, the man who raised me, and _my best friend_ who only raised arms because of his _love_ for you. I do not know when your willfulness warped into such unparalleled self-fixation. Your selfishness nearly destroyed our house, _has_ destroyed House Arryn; it has shattered families, and has cost _thousands_ of people their _lives_." He lets out a deep sigh. "You are my sister, so know that I will always love you. And one day I will bring myself to forgive you. But, right now… right now, _I cannot stand the sight of you_."

.x.

 _King Rhaegar inters his father's ashes deep underneath the Red Keep._

"Killed with his pyromancer," whisper the servants. "Did ya hear? Prince Rhaegar entered the throne room just as Jaime Lannister was tryin' to save King Aerys, but neither could stop the Mad King from following his pyromancer into the arms of the flames. That's not all. I even hear that Ser Jaime saved Rhaegar from being taken with his father."

* * *

 ** _Arryn. Baratheon. Lannister. Tully. Tyrell. Greyjoy._**

 ** _House Stark may be granted clemency for its actions,_ _but the other houses are_ _not._**

* * *

Varys is aporetic of Rhaegar's actions following the war, shocked by how the new King's perspective and personality have soured.

"Your Grace, I agree fully with you that the Houses following Robert the Rebeller, and those that did not immediately rush to our aid, must be punished accordingly… But, your Grace, with all due respect, these reparations that you have ordered… they are simply too severe. You are amputating families that are pillars for stability in their respective Kingdoms. Such actions will only further cripple the stability of our war-torn Realm."

"Lord Varys, do not patronize me like some green boy. I am your _King_." Rhaegar turns his rigid gaze towards the space where his right arm should be. "When a limb rots, you cut it off to save the body. That is all I am doing, severing the rot in Westeros."

Varys does not agree, so Varys whispers.

.x.

 _House Arryn's future lays dead, with Elbert Arryn felled at the beginning from the flaming grip of the Mad King, and Denys Arryn slain at the end along the murky waters of the Trident._ _King Rhaegar puts_ _Jon Arryn to the sword in the aftermath, in front of King's Landing. The steel swings despite the loud protests of many nobles over how the respected man is the last of the Great House of the Vale, "the oldest and purest line of Andal nobility!"_

Lyanna Stark bristles when her husband enters their chambers, mere hours after ending the line of Arryn. "How could you?" She hisses. "How could you execute a man whose only crime was not sending my brother to his death?"

"I need to punish the families who rebelled, Lya, no matter how unwarranted you may think my actions. Jon Arryn was the first to call his banners, he was the leader behind Robert's name. If I hand out a blanket of mercy now, then their future heirs will use the same cloth to strangle my own children with another rebellion when I pass. I refuse to explain this to you once more. The rebels will be punished as traitors, they will face my justice, and then all the Seven Kingdoms will remember forevermore what happens when they try to usurp the Crown… and what happens when they fail to support it."

.x.

 _Stannis Baratheon's piercing screams reverberate against the stone walls of the throne room. Each pained wail punctuates the sizzling of a hot blade, as the searing sword is pressed repeatedly against the blistering skin of his right arm. While Stannis is held down and mutilated, Renly Baratheon watches on in horror, barely six years old._

"I hear the King branded the Baratheon brothers with traitor's marks. The older brother on his whole right arm and the littler one on his left hand," whispers the appalled barkeep of _the Cony._

"So cruel." Tsks the blonde tavern wench, shaking her head as she gathers up another tray of drink orders to distribute amongst the bar's patrons.

"Suppose so." The barkeep shrugs, then seems to contemplate. "But, no one never did find that ship that Lord Stannis chased out to sea in that gods-fearing storm - the one that they say had the King's mother and brother. I even hear Queen Rhaella was pregnant when it happened." The barkeep punctuates his sentence with a pointed look to the young girl's own protruding stomach.

.x.

 _Ned Stark fervently protests Rhaegar's brutal branding of the remaining two Baratheon boys. And perhaps the only person who protests as vehemently as the Quiet Wolf of Winterfell is, surprisingly, Queen Elia Martell._

"Robert Baratheon's only crime was fighting for justice, after you foolishly let the Realm believe that you kidnapped and raped his betrothed. Even I am in awe of the carelessness of your actions. It is one thing, to brand a man with a traitor's burn, it is another to harm a _child_. Renly Baratheon is barely older than Rhaenys." Elia hisses at the King, voice cutting and eyes narrowed. "You make me sick."

"If it was Robert who won, do you think the Baratheons would have spared our children?" Rhaegar doesn't wait for a response. "No, they wouldn't have. So why should I spare theirs?"

Elia's ashy eyes set ablaze; she sneers. (She never used to. Before Harrenhal she had never known hate so strongly that it seeped through and marred her expressions, but she is becoming more and more familiar with the uncomfortable twists that take over her face when speaking with the new King). "Do not tell me you care for _my_ children, when you left them to the homicidal whims of _Aerys_." The Queen shakes her head, turning away with a bitter smile. "You showed your true colours to the Seven Kingdoms, your Grace. I don't imagine anyone will soon forget." Her sneer curdles. "In fact, I don't imagine history will remember this as anything but a wasteful war that ripped apart families and kingdoms, all so that a Prince already with trueborn heirs might bed a girl half his age, a girl that was promised to his cousin." She lets outa joyless laugh. "When people remember you and your beautiful Lyanna, it will not be with love."

.x.

For not aiding Robert's forces, Tywin gets back his coveted heir.

For not aiding the Targaryen forces, the King demands the Lannisters pay vast reparations to both the Reach and the Crownlands.

 _"My father's slights are no excuse to not immediately raise banners for the Crown when called upon. Be thankful for your son's heroic actions, Lord Tywin. They are why I let you keep your head."_

.x.

Jaime doesn't tell anyone – ever – what really happened in the throne room on the eve of Prince Rhaegar's return from the Trident. It is a memory he buries deep in his mind, in the same barricaded dark space occupied by the memories of Aerys's penchant for burning his subjects alive ( _"Burn them all! Burn them in their homes! Burn them in their beds!"_ ) and the haunting sobs of Queen Rhaella ( _"Help! I beg, help me, please!"_ ) _._ Perhaps, eventually, he would have told Cersei the truth of that horrible night… if King Rhaegar hadn't betrothed her to Stannis Baratheon.

Sixteen-year-old Jaime Lannister gazes out the window of his father's second solar, in the direction of the sprawling mountains of Casterly Rock. _'_ _A Kingslayer is now the heir to the richest Kingdom in Westeros, while a Kinslayer King wears a crown.'_ The heir to the Westerlands snorts, completely disillusioned with the world. He fingers the space where his white cloak used to be, and tries not to flinch when a servant says his bride-to-be has arrived at the castle. _'What a fucked up world we live in.'_

.x.

Hoster Tully loses his head. The Blackfish returns to Riverrun to serve as Lord-Regent until young Edmure comes of age. Lady Lysa Arryn – after being confined in the Maiden Vault for enough moons to see if Jon Arryn's seed had taken – leaves King's Landing with a flat stomach, and a shiny new engagement to a lauded war hero. Specifically, to the scion of Casterly Rock, Jaime Lannister... _the Kingsaver_.

.x.

 _The Tyrells, in addition to receiving a lofty sum from Casterly Rock, get... n_ _othing._

"Your Grace, House Tyrell has loyally supported House Targaryen during these trying times, and we wish only to continue serving your reign and the Realm. I humbly offer my newborn daughter Margaery's hand to your young heir."

"Loyalty to your King is its own reward, Lord Mace. Serving the Crown faithfully is not some great sacrifice to be rewarded, it is expected from our subjects. I will not set the precedent that sworn Houses should remain loyal only when they have a royal marriage to be gained. Your daughter - as the other noble girls - will remain in contention, but not promised."

.x.

 _For not supporting the Crown, Balon Greyjoy (expectedly, at this point) loses his head. This leaves Pyke in the clenched hands of his eldest son, Rodrick Greyjoy._

"Let this be a warning, Lord Rodrik. Should you ever fail to heed your King's demands again, I will see your entire House eradicated."

"Yes, Your Grace."

 _'The new liege lord of the Iron Islands hides his hatred well,'_ observes Rhaegar, as he looks into the younger man's blank eyes. Then he notes the fists at the Greyjoy's sides. _'But not perfectly.'_

.x.

During the rebellion, Dorne claimed to support the Crown, but it had been slow to engage. This delay was powered by insult to their pride: a Targeryen prince spurning Princess Elia Martell, who had given him two heirs at great risk to her health. Despite Dorne's half-hearted support (which was essentially neutrality, until Ser Lewyn led a Dornish contingent to the Trident when Aerys threatened Elia), Dorne receives no rebuke like its fellow Great Houses. After all, any further slight to the now universally well-loved Queen Elia ( _"The True Queen", "The Merciful Queen", "The Queen that was Wronged", the populace calls her_ ) after the rebellion would likely just plant the seeds for another war.

Little does Rhaeger know, they have already been sown.

* * *

 ** _'Two Queens, Too Many' becomes a favourite song of the bards_**

* * *

Queen Elia Martell: _"The First Queen", "The True Queen", "The Merciful", "The Slighted", "The Wronged", "the forgiver of the rebels"_. The people chant, the people pray, and the people _remember_.

Queen Lyanna Stark: _"The Second Queen," "The Home-Wrecker Queen", "The Mummer", "The Duty-Dodger", "the cause of the rebellion"._ The people think, the people dwell, and the people _seethe_.

Young Princess Rhaenys is heralded for her kindness and good nature ( _"so like her mother,"_ the people praise), while baby Prince Aegon is heralded as the Iron Throne's heir ( _"be not like your father,"_ the people pray).

The newborn Prince Jon Targaryen? He symbolizes what the Realm bled for, and they will never forgive him for it.

.x.

 _Queen Elia grows sicker and sicker, passing away not long after the end of Robert's Rebellion. She leaves behind a crying three-year-old son, a lonely five-year-old daughter, a mourning Dorne, and a seething Prince Oberyn._

"It was the stress of the war so close to the time after her birth," buzz the court ladies as they flock to the gardens winding around King's Landing. "She died from her broken heart, shamed at being cast aside for another woman, shamed at being replaced for a younger Queen."

The ladies aren't the only ones who use their words.

 _"Oh Merciful Queen, heart pure as pearl, meets those lost for a selfish girl,"_ sing the bards, before Rhaegar bans the tune.

"A king who chose lust over duty," fume the Lords of the Realm, who continue to permit the tune, letting it play repeatedly in the walls of their castles and at the halls of their feasts. _"Robert the Wronged,"_ they they start teaching their young heirs. _"He was a noble man who went to war for his betrothed, an unfaithful girl seduced by a lustful king - a so-called royal who spurned his own vows, who abandoned his own children to the mercy of a madman so he might warm his sheets. Robert Baratheon won his duel fairly, yet he was felled from behind. He was a true warrior. He would not have branded a child like cattle. He would not have beheaded the lords of the land. He would have been a better king."_

.x.

Queen Lyanna announces an upcoming second child not even a year after Queen Elia's death.

"How callous," hiss the court ladies, "to conceive another Prince while the land still mourns their true Queen."

When Queen Lyanna dies in the birthing bed, it is rumoured that only four people in the Realm grieve: the King, her son, and her brothers. And the rest of the North? _The North Remembers._ Every Northern House remembers _exactly_ why there are fathers, sons, brothers, and cousins missing from their tables. Their anger is palpable, a thick steam surrounding lords and darkening the eyes of their impressionable heirs. ("Don't ever forget how the One-Armed King and his Duty-Dodger Queen selfishly destroyed this land. She soiled her honour and sacrificed Northern lives for a _Southern crown_.")

.x.

There is still no word _from_ or _of_ Dowager Queen Rhaella, Prince Viserys, or Rhaegar's unnamed sibling. Despite the ships sent searching, the little birds sent whispering, and the eyes sent scouring the lands for white-blonde strands and violet eyes. Eventually, they are deemed lost at sea, bodies never to be recovered.

.x.

 _285 AC_

Not even a day after his second wife's death, the King sends a summon to Storm's End, inviting (commanding) Stannis Baratheon and his daughter to come to court. When they arrive, the girl is ripped from the arms of her nursemaid. The Kingsguard hold down Shireen Baratheon while a traitor's mark is burned onto her cheek.

Shireen Baratheon, Tywin Lannister's first grandchild, who is _not even 8 moons old._

"A daughter and two brothers in exchange for a mother and two siblings. Three for three. House Baratheon's debt is paid," declares King Rhaegar to Lord Stannis, though the ruler's words are barely heard by the audience over the continued wails of the burnt baby girl.

The entire court remains quiet while inside the throne room during the branding. They are not so reticent when they leave the room with the looming dragon skulls.

"That poor girl will be scarred forever. On her _face._ How heartbreaking. With her lineage, she would have secured a fine match. But now? Just think of what will happen to her marriage prospects in the future! Who will entertain a wife with such an ugly burn!" A noble ladies laments, as she strolls through the Red Keep's gardens with two others.

"I've heard a Maester was sent for to try and minimize the scarring on the girl." Says her lady-in-waiting. "But, I still don't imagine that the Lannisters will ever forget this. _Now the rains weep o'er his halls_..." Both ladies shiver at the haunting words from the infamous tune.

"Branding babies," grumbles the lady's disgusted sworn-shield. The aged man spits at the ground, the sticky glob a misshapen bloom in the dirt. "Mark my words, this is the king's first step towards becoming his father."

.x.

"My _daughter_!" Cersei roars. "He hurt my child! _My_ _child_! This is one insult too many, you cannot allow this to go unpunished!" Cersei's uncontrollable fury explodes as she screeches and paces inside Tywin's solar, tearing into stray books and sweeping away letters in her path of destruction. "I'll have his children slaughtered! His daughter stabbed with half a hundred thrusts! His heir beaten until his corpse is left unrecognizable! And I will see the Wrecker Queen's spawn _burned alive_!"

To Tywin, in this moment, his daughter is so utterly _Baratheon._ Fitting, given her new name. Of course, Tywin is just as angry, just as ferociously enraged as his daughter at the branding of his grandchild. However, the infamous lion channels his ire _very_ differently. "We will bide our time in this." He orders firmly, his cold tone unyielding. "Rhaegar's reparations have made him no friends. He has started the dial on his own deposition." Tywin's face hardens. "The first thing I need from you is a male Baratheon heir."

* * *

To most of the war-exhausted realm's relief, King Rhaegar shows no progression into a heated madness. Instead, after Lyanna's death and finally completing the deliverance of all his ordered reparations, Rhaegar descends into a cold indifference.

.x.

 _Time passes, the ink dries._

 _Prince Rhaegar_ : heralded as intelligent (despite his bouts of melancholy). His harp playing brought tears to every eye. History could have remembered him as a well-loved ruler, as a progressive leader who cared for his people.

 _King Rhaegar_ : rumoured to be cold to all his sons (with an occasional smile for his daughter). Rhaegar's reparations rip tears in every kingdom. History will remember him as a ruler who chose a single girl over the lives of his people.

.x.

 _King Rhaegar Targaryen:_ the king who chose desire over duty, the one-armed king whose choices started a war that ravaged the Seven Kingdoms.

 _Queen Elia Martell:_ the First Queen, who was spurned, but who still advocated for mercy on behalf of the rebelling houses.

 _Queen Lyanna Stark_ : the Second Queen, whose selfishness incited the rebellion; thousands of lives lost for a lie.

 _Princess Rhaenys Targaryen:_ a kind princess who must grow up without a mother.

 _Prince Aegon Targaryen:_ the heir, the future King of the Seven Kingdoms.

 _Prince Jon Targaryen:_ the reminder of the rebellion

And then there came another.

.x.

Prince Rickon Targaryen enters the world by killing his mother.

For this, most of the realm celebrates him.

(His father, however, never forgives him.)

* * *

 _275 AC_

Many years before Robert's Rebellion, three girls in Lannisport slowly approached a tent pitched with murky green drapes. Only two girls braved the crusty, old crone inside. The witch who was rumoured to tell the future.

 _In this life, Maggy the Frog gave only one prevision to a green-eyed girl..._

And in that rasping prophecy,

there is no valonqar;

but there is

 _a crown._

* * *

 **End of Chapter**

* * *

(see below for **timeline** , **preview** of next and upcoming chapters, and my Lyanna/Rhaegar **rant** )

Side note: Lyanna will get redeemed a bit in the next chapter. Rhaegar will not, though you will eventually get a POV from him to better explain his actions.

 **Review** pretty please, it pushes me to put out more chapters! I'd love to know what you all think of this warped AU so far! Also, thoughts on the summary? Grammar? Plot? Etcetera?

* * *

 **Timeline summary**

* * *

 **275 AC:** Cersei hears Maggy's prophecy (in which there is no valonqar)

 **279 AC (Year -2)** : **Rhaenys** Targaryen is born. Elia tales a long time to recover from delivering Rhaenys.

 **281 AC (Year 0):** Elia pregnant with Aegon. Maester Pycelle tells Rhaegar that if this second child doesn't die during labour and/or kill his wife, the next one will. Harrenhal tourney (and thus Elia being passed over for QOLAB for Lyanna) is thus even more shocking because it happens when Elia Martell is pregnant. **Aegon** Targaryen born. Lyanna 'abducted', Brandon Stark and Rickard Stark die per canon, Robert's Rebellion starts, including Ned's marriage to Cat. **Willas** Tyrell is 2 years old, **Loras** Tyrell is 1 year old, **Renly** Baratheon is 4 years old.

 **282 AC (Year 1):** **Robb** Stark and **Margaery** Tyrell born. Viserys and a pregnant Rhaelle sent to Dragonstone for protection, but when Baratheons seize it, they run away via ship. Stannis chases them, but due to storm, cannot find them. They are considered lost at sea and dead.

 **283 AC (Year 2):** **Jon Targaryen** born and Robert's Rebellion ends. Lyanna Stark crowned the "Second Queen". End of war reparations (infamously known as 'Rhaegar's Reparations') announced. This includes the beheadings of Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully, and Balon Greyjoy; Stannis and Renly getting traitor brands on their arm and hand, respectively; Lannisters paying reparations to the crown; and Tyrells being denied the betrothal of Margaery to Aegon at the time (though she is still one of the females to be considered in the future). Ned returns to the North sans fake-bastard.

 **284 AC (Year 3):** Stannis marries Cersei Lannister. Elia dies leaving behind three-year-old Aegon and five-year-old Rhaenys. Rickon Targaryen conceived. **Sansa** Stark born to Catelyn Stark. After stint in Maidenvault to ensure she wasn't pregnant with an Aryrn heir, Lysa betrothed to Jaime Lannister.

 **285 AC (Year 4)** : **Shireen** Baratheon (born to _**Cersei Baratheon**_ ). **Rickon Targaryen** born (Lyanna dies while giving birth to him). **Bran** and **Arya** – twins – born to Catelyn Stark.

* * *

 **RANT TIME**

 **( Rhaegar will stay a villain in this story, but Lyanna gets some redemption in later chapters)**

* * *

So as you can see from this fic, I am NOT a fan of Lyanna nor Rhaegar (though I will admit, I have probably been overly harsh in this fic, but mostly because its ffn and I need conflict). I, personally, cannot see how anyone can ship them, even if they end up being canon. To be honest, I suspect fans have transferred their love of Ned, Jon, and (early) Arya to Lyanna based off Ned's memories of her.

Lyanna's moment defending Howland? Awesome.

Otherwise, I can't help but see Lyanna as selfish and hypocritical. She didn't want to marry an **unfaithful** husband, and so she elopes with a **married** man (with a family?!) Whether held to medieval or modern standards, I just don't get how a relationship like that can be lauded. It would have simply taken a letter (or even sending a messenger or literally any form of existing communication) to pass along the message to her family that she went of her own freewill. (There are some fans that suspect she _did_ leave a letter, which her father ignored for his "Southern Ambitions" plot, but until I see proof of that in canon – the girl is thoughtless/ lacks common sense). Some people are like: "But she was young!" In the words of season 7 Arya Stark, please see Lyanna Mormont. And some people are like: "But they were in love!" Please see below.

Rhaegar? He publicly shamed Elia at Harrenhal. It was just so utterly stupid. If he had some extramarital feelings for Lyanna, okay fine, a person can't control their heart. But acting on it in such a public manner in front of her family, her betrothed, his wife's family, the entire freaking realm that was already holding its breath because of its fire-happy King? Perhaps it is a good thing he didn't ascend to the throne, if that event is a reflection of his political acumen (hence his lack of it in my fic).

Moreover, it wasn't just one of Lyanna's father's bannermen she was spurning, she was spurning the heir to another kingdom. Now, in medieval times, there is a give and take between freedom and status. High status? You get food, shelter, luxuries, etc. BUT in return you are not free to wed whoever catches your fancy, because your marriage is important to the well-being of your House, your lands, and your _people._ Low status? Not guaranteed your necessities, but free to marry for love. Lyanna wanted to pick the best from both piles, not giving anything in return.

Some people are like: "Rhaegar somehow knew about a prophecy to repel the white walkers and he needed a third child, and Elia couldn't have one!" Let's say he was convinced of this. That did not mean he had to _publicly humiliate his wife_. He could have discussed his need for a 'spare' with her (not even needing to discuss the need for a child to fulfill a prophecy if it was supposed to be a super secret, since back then it was totally understandable for important royals/lords to have an heir AND a spare), and then taken on a mistress/second wife. (Some people are like, "BUT she didn't arrange the betrothal of her own choice, why is she bound to it etc, etcetera." Please see above point re: give and take, and remember that this is a medieval world. Obviously if this was set in modern times, my opinions on the whole Lyanna and Rhaegar storyline would be different; I wouldn't condemn her for running away from Robert, but I'd still condemn her for **eloping with a _married man who had kids_** ). Honestly, if she wasn't down for being his mistress and he wanted a second wife, fine, but announce it publicly (and face the consequences) instead of running away in secret. All their secret eloping does is show they clearly knew that the action was wrong, but they did it anyways, and to hell with the consequences the others were left with.

Some people are like: "But Aerys is mad as a hatter and wouldn't have let Rhaegar do anything, including taking a mistress/second wife." My response to that is, if the current King is so unstable that you fear what he will do to the people he is around, why would you **_leave your children_ **with him to abscond with another woman? (Yes, let's go get another baby for the prophecy, and leave the other supposed two-thirds of the prophecy to be potentially **roasted.** Aerys was already known to torture trusted advisors and rape is wife - and he was becoming increasingly volatile and crazy af. Is there a single parent out there among the viewers who would have left their child with their parent if they were acting like Aerys?

If you disagree with my above rant, please feel free to explain your perspective in a review/PM. I'm honestly confused by this widespread love for Lyanna and Rhaegar, but maybe I am missing something super obvious that everyone other than me is getting? Am I totally wrong in how I'm seeing Lyanna and Rhaegar?

* * *

 _ **PREVIEWS!**_

(note: these are subject to change when they actually pop up in later chapters, but are currently where the story is heading)

* * *

 **PREVIEW NUMBER ONE**

Tansy, proud owner of the Peach, is thrilled that the Red Keep is hosting another tourney. Her business is always bolstered by the many Westerland and Riverland knights stopping by her establishment while on their way to the Goldroad. An influx of knights with deep pockets eagerly seeking a break from their horses and longing for feminine company.

The inn is currently bustling with drunken patrons and her dazzling peaches, but Tandy still easily overhears one of her girl's at the nearest table. Alyce, a buxom girl with a tenacity as fiery as her hair, is chatting with a pair of Riverland knights.

The redhead slowly trails her hand up the armoured arm of the taller of the two knights as she coyly inquires, "So, where're you _fine_ Sers headin'?"

The taller one looks beguiled by her pretty smile, too enchanted to speak. His shorter friend clocks the back of his head, and laughs before answering Alyce. "Heading to King's Landing for Prince Jon's nameday celebrations. Same direction that I imagine these fellows-" (here the shorter knight makes a grand sweep of his arms, which wobble with the weight of liquor) "-are headed. There's to be a tourney."

Alyce tilts her head, playing at interested despite knowing the answers to all the questions she asks ( _'Drunk men tell all the same tales,'_ Tansy thinks with a snort.) "Prince Jon, is that the Targaryen son of the Wrecker Queen or the Stark son of hers?" she inquires, while signalling one of the Peach's serving girls to refill both mens' cups.

Both knights bark out loud, deep laughs. The taller finally finds his voice, which turns out to be more grizzly than his companion's. "Stark son is right. I hear the Second Queen's younger boy has not a single Targaryen feature. Not one at all."

The shorter one continues. "Aye, I saw them both at the last tourney. The elder of the Wrecker Queen at least had the King's eyes, even his fair skin. And I even heard he was prone to the same bouts of melancholy the King was at his age. The younger lad though, he is _all northern_ : dark hair, grey eyes, blunt words, and burgeoning broad build." He takes a big gulp of his newly refilled ale tankard before continuing. "They even say he spars as northerners do – all brutal efficiency and the like. Heard from the other knights on our way over that the boy apparently is able to beat either of his _older_ brothers in a spar. I won't believe that 'till I see it with my own eyes though. The youngest can't be what, more than twelve years? Why, he's still green as grass."

Alyce nods, as if the shorter knight has imparted her with some great words of wisdom. She curls a finger by her pouting lips, her brows slightly furrowing as she wonders aloud in an aimless voice, "Hmm... How does a King love trueborn sons that come from two different mothers?"

The shorter one snorts. "I hear the King paid none but his daughter any mind, and even that is probably out of guilt given the princess's resemblance to Queen Elia."

The taller knight grows a bit quieter, and Tansy has to strain a bit to hear his gruff voice over the cacophony of the other patrons. "I hear the King completely ignores his youngest, has ignored him since the lad was a babe. Blames him for the death of the Second Queen. Some say the King doubts the boy is even his, but doesn't name him bastard out of respect for the boy's mother."

"What about Queen Elia's son - what have you heard about the heir?" Alyce frowns. "I hear some… whispers…" she trails off.

"Aye," the taller knight replies, though both knights' expressions darken. "I bet we've all heard the same."

Alyce sneers. "Targaryen madness, the lot of them. _I bet_ things would'a been better had Robert the Wronged won, and the Wrecker Queen did us all the favour o' dying in the birthing bed in her damned Dornish Tower."

The knights don't disagree, even the taller one, who respected the crown just enough to say 'Second' Queen even when drunk.

Tansy supposes she should be reprimanding the effusive girl, but honestly, she doubts anyone in the entire brothel disagrees. And if there is one thing that fills her coffers, it's regret.

* * *

 **PREVIEW NUMBER TWO**

 _'Shireen Baratheon.'_

He identifies her almost immediately, the scar easily putting a name to her face.

He notes her discomfort almost as quickly as he recognizes her. He feels his own cheeks warm as he realizes he is literally laying _astride_ her (Rhae would have his head if she saw him like this, draped over a lady of a Great House).

He abruptly rises off of her, and in some misguided attempt to help her shocked form stand as well, ends up pulling her into his chest, to which she responds by violently shoving herself away from him. It's reflex when he reaches out his left hand to grab her arm again, steadying her so that she doesn't once more meet the floor from the momentum of her push.

He feels the tension through his grip on her forearm. She's frozen, her eyes locked to the ground.

 _'She's… scared?'_ Rickon finally comprehends, though he is perplexed as to why. He is about to ask, when his gaze is drawn again to the infamous mark on her face. It's unconscious curiosity – truly – when Rickon raises his right arm. He abandons all semblance of propriety when he uses a finger from his free hand to trace the smooth grey scarring on the girl's left cheek. The silvery wound spans from the cheekbone under her eye to her chin in height. In width, it runs from beside her lips nearly all the way to beside her ear. Though, it appears to be far enough away from her mouth and eyes that it doesn't seem to restrict her expressions.

She flinches her face away from his touch, and his frown deepens when she leans back. "Does it hurt?" He asks calmly.

Shireen looks even more petrified when she meets his gaze, and almost immediately her blue eyes dart back down to the carpet. "…No," she lets out with a quiet voice, softer than a whisper.

Rickon uses his full hand then, palming her cheek. She does nothing, as his fingers border along the edge of the traitor's brand. He lowers his voice. "My father did this to you?" It's more a statement than a question. "When you were just a child, not even a year old."

Shireen finally steps away, eyes widening as she hurries to respond. "His Grace was merciful to my family. A traitor's brand was justice for my uncle's treachery."

Rickon notices that the words flow together too easily, and recognizes the well-practiced lines. _'She's not just scared of my name,'_ Rickon realizes, with a sinking feeling in his gut. _'She is scared of me. Scared that I will harm her, and face no repercussions just because of who are families are. Because of the crown on my head_. _We're alone, and she thinks I'm going to use the chance to hurt her._ '

Rickon knows exactly what it is to be scared of someone with more power than you – someone who will face no justice, not even a word of reprimand, for harming you. He makes his decision then, as he leans down to the side and begins to pull up the right leg of his trousers. Shireen looks confused, before blushing bright red and turning her face to the side. "Your Grace!" She squeals, "you can't just - this isn't - this is hardly prop–"

Rickon snorts. "I'm sure the virtue of my leg is safe with you, my Lady. Now come on, take a look, there is a point to this."

.x.X.x.

Her curiosity truly is a powerful thing for it to outweigh her fear in that moment. When she finally looks down, she notes the stark mark on his left leg. Her eyes widen, and she is unable to hold back her gasp. "Oh! Oh my. W-what is that?"

It is an ugly thing, a mottled scar that runs almost a hand's length up the lateral side of his calf. It looks like a knife of some sort was used to burn it into his skin. It is as wider than three finger-breadths. And the way the thick cord of scar juts outward, with tight and tiny spider-like branches along its edges, suggests that the wound was quite deep.

Shireen shakes her head and tries compose herself like she knows her grandfather would tell her to do. "How did you get such a wound?" She finally asks, as her gaze slowly returns to his face. Shireen knows the jagged cut cannot be from training, no knight would ever dare harm a prince so gruesomely. And she's pretty sure there have been no assassination attempts or anything of the like towards the royal family. (If there had been, there is no doubt in her mind that her family would have toasted over it.)

The prince's expression twists, his slate eyes darken, and his mind seems to go to place outside the wooden doors barring the library. "A ' _bastard's brand'_ according to my brother. I guess he learned that branding was a form of 'justice' from my father. I learned to not best my brothers in sparring quite quickly after this." He offers a bitter smile, eyes blank. "One held me down and the other carved the mark with a heated blade."

Shireen is curious, and her own courtesies have clearly left her, chased away by the prince's own easy familiarity. She bends down and stretches out her hand to follow the meandering of the scar. Her finger tips easily feel it's angry ridges. ' _What hate._ ' She shivers. ' _What kind of person is capable of doing something so violent to their family? To a younger sibling?'_

 _(Like a blaze, her errant thoughts set alight a memory from her own past, and she realizes she is the last person to judge another for harming one's younger brother.)_

The prince's words grab her attention, as she tilts her head back up to meet his soft gaze. "I know what it is to fear someone who will face not even a tongue-lashing for harming you because of their _position_. Trust me, my Lady. No harm to you will ever come from me."

With a start, she realizes that his words are sincere. Purely, wholly sincere. And with that honest vow, with their shared shy smiles, Shireen Baratheon begins to trust Rickon Targaryen.

 _(This meeting is the resurrection of revolution. They just don't know it yet.)_

* * *

 **PREVIEW NUMBER 3**

Jon looks to the violet-eyed woman who is more goddess than mortal. A woman who is more warrior princess than docile lady. A women who has changed his life. He cannot stop the warm gratitude in his thoughts. _'Thank you.'_ He breathes. _'Thank you for showing me that I can be better.'_

* * *

 **Review pretty please :)**


	2. Chapter 2a: children without mothers

**TITLE** : Wolves Aflame

 **AUTHOR:** 372259

 **DISCLAIMER:** Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of George R. R. Martin. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation and anxiety over whether readers will like it enough to review or hate it enough to flame ;)

 **STORY IMAGES:** I found them on Pinterest, and cannot for the life of me sniff out their original sources. If anyone knows, I would appreciate the sources so I can give them the credit for it!

* * *

 **STORY SO FAR** :

 _In chapter 1:_ Rhaegar Targaryen loses in his one-on-one against Robert at the Battle of the Trident, but Lewyn kills Robert by stabbing him in the back. Rhaegar has his knights bring Lyanna and their newly born son (Jon) to King's Landing, where he crowns Lyanna as the Second Queen and starts dealing out "Rhaegar's reparations" (essentially punishing Houses who didn't support him as well as he feels they could have, or Houses who supported the rebels). Queen Elia dies. Lyanna dies giving birth to Rickon. We see an insert scene where a pair of kiddos are in lessons with their Maester. _Side question for the peanut gallery: who do you think these boys are?_ We learn that there are some people who believe that Robert should have been king (calling him Robert the Wronged instead of Robert the Rebeller), and that there are already whispers of sedition being seeded around the Kingdom. Timeline of marriages/births/deaths is available at the end of the previous chapter for your perusal.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi all! First off if you read chapter one prior to like three days ago, I suggest a reread because I added in quite a few details. If you don't want to re-read the entire thing, the two **biggest changes** were the **"tavern wench"** scene (courtesy of a reviewer who wanted this character to be born – I'm sure you smarties can figure out who is gestating in that scene) and the **Robert VS Rhaegar fight scene**. Truth is that there are two characters that were going to die in Chapter 2 (and one who wasn't going to be born), but your reviews saved them and made me consider a different role for them. So again, if you want to see something, let me know in a review and I sometimes will rearrange the story a bit to fit it in, if I can and it works with the plot ;) Mostly as a consequence of reviews, I've eased up a bit on Rhaegar and Lyanna, which you will see in Part 1 and Part 2 of this chapter, respectively.

 **A/N 2: responses** to reviewers are at the bottom. As is **casting** for the characters, and a **sneak peak** at Part 2 of this chapter.

 **A/N 3: Remember:** in this fic, **Cersei** _ **never hears about a valonqar** in her prophecy_. I.e. her hatred of Tyrion for killing their mother is not amplified by her fear of him one day killing her. And because she initially suspected to wed Rhaegar, she kept her canoodling with Jaimie rated PG (in my head, it was Robert's indiscretions that sent her further into Jaime's arms, even though I'm pretty sure there is canon evidence against that and hinting she was psychotic all along...). Also, remember that this is a younger Stannis – one who didn't get divested of his rightful claim by Robert (after fighting a war, surviving a siege, and risking his life sailing through a storm, etc. for him), and repeatedly spurned by Robert.

On with the show!

* * *

.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

x

 _"_ _A man should never refuse to taste a peach. He may never get the chance again."_

 _~Renly Baratheon, A Clash of Kings, Chapter Catelyn III_

x

 _"Promise me, Ned... Promise me."_

 _~Lyanna, A Game of Thrones, Chapter Ned I_

x

 _"_ _The best part of him died with her."_

 _~Gerion, A Storm of Swords, Chapter Tyrion V_

.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

* * *

 **.x.**

 **Wolves Aflame**

 _Chapter 2: children without mothers_

 _(Peaches & Promises & Penance)_

 ** _Part 1_**

 **.x.**

* * *

 ** _Rhaegar had thought it justice_**

* * *

 _281 AC_

Viserys idolizes Rhaegar. Well aware of this, Rhaegar attempts to accommodate his little brother's childish whims whenever he can. Whether that means watching the boy learn to hold a sword, or letting Viserys tag along with him to the pier, where the younger prince gapes at the exotic wares of the foreign merchants lining the docks.

But tensions at court and throughout the kingdom have been rising alongside their father's penchant for fire, and Rhaegar has been taking on more and more responsibility. In fact, he just finished spending the entire day listening to complaints and conspiracies, whispering about solutions to his father's worsening madness, and appeasing grubbily sycophantic courtiers. His mind still spins with things he has yet to do, of which includes researching the prophecy of the promised prince, which he has had less and less time to explore. Especially with the upcoming Harrenhal tourney; an event that is in itself a stressful affair to be secretly involved in organizing, as it is just a façade. Harrenhal will be a way to gather all the relevant lords (while Aerys Targaryen's paranoia keeps him in the Red Keep), and to hopefully work together to create a means to deal with the fire-crazed King.

Rhaegar is desperate for some silence, seclusion, and time to better study the prophecy. And so it is with quick steps he makes his way to his horse, eager for a quick trip to Summerhall's burnt ruins. Rhaegar plans to have the meeting with the lords at the tail end of the tourney, and if they cannot come up with a solution for his father, perhaps his upcoming study of the prophecy will. Perhaps the remedy to this ailing kingdom will be found in the meaning underlying its words?

In truth, he only _just_ now, _finally_ escaped his duties. Exhausted and worn out, Rhaegar wishes for nothing more than sleep, but this is the last chance for him to visit Summerhall and still return in time for the tourney at Harrenhal.

So when Viserys bolts across the courtyard and runs into him (a now drained and desperate-to-leave Rhaegar), and then proceeds to clutch at Rhaegar's trousers with sticky hands, begging for attention, Rhaegar. _Just_. _Can't._

"Brother! Brother! You must try these peaches!" Viserys chimes, wide eyed and eager, one hand yanking the hem of Rhaegar's doublet and the other pushing a small orange globe towards Rhaegar's face. The peach in the younger boy's hand is overly ripe, with juice trickling down the child-Prince's sticky hands and then transferring onto Rhaegar's pants. "I climbed a tree for them!" Viserys exclaims proudly. "I gave one to Elia and she said she'd _never_ _ever_ tasted one so sweet here, and that she would get her brother to send some more peach trees from Dorne for me, and–"

"Yes, that's a good idea, why don't you show it to Elia?" Rhaegar intercedes, his mind already half at Summerhall. The feelings associated with the casual mention of his ailing pregnant wife is not something he can afford to entertain right now. A wife who would be unable to produce a third child, according to Pycelle. A wife who he was tied to, whose frailty could cost the realm dearly.

"But—"

" _Later_ , Viserys" And then Rhaegar turns to gather his horse, ignoring Viserys downcast eyes and disheartening frown. Rhaegar tells himself he will spend some time with Viserys when he returns. But right now, he just needs to be alone. Figuring out the prophecy and saving the Seven Kingdoms takes precedence over an attention-starved little boy.

.x.

Rhaegar never had the chance to make it up to his brother. After Harrenhal, so much had happened that there was no time for training, traversing piers, or eating peaches. To this day, Rhaegar hates the site of the sprawling peach trees in the Red Keep. He would order them removed if they hadn't been a wedding gift from Dorne to Elia. Every time he sees the spindly structures he spends the night dreaming of his younger brother, biting into one of the plump fruits then _choking._ Gasping for air and drowning, like he would have in the cold, dark depths of the Narrow Sea.

Rhaegar had thought it justice – the branding of the Baratheons. Justice for his mother, justice for his younger brother, and justice for his sibling not even yet born; all of whom would be breathing beside him, yet instead lay lost and dead in their watery tombs. He could have taken Stannis and Renlys' heads, and he was tempted to, but it seemed almost too quick an end to soothe his rage over Robert Baratheon's destruction of his plans. In truth, perhaps Stannis's punishment was so severe because it functioned as recompense for Robert taking Rhaegar's own arm. An action which rendered him no longer able to defend his family with his sword, leaving Rhaegar only his name and his words to wield against current and future foes. At the time, Rhaegar saw no choice but to enact the reparations. He needed to ensure that all Seven Kingdoms knew he was still their leader even without an arm. He had only sparred the Starks for Lyanna, and the Martells because he knew Dorne would never rise against Aegon.

In truth, Rhaegar thought he had been as merciful as he could be in the situation, had thought his actions to be a just punishment for their family's treason.

Elia had disagreed.

To this day, he still remembers Elia's words, and her persistent vitriol towards him after Harrenhal. Prior to that tourney, they had not been in love, but they had at least respected each other. Been kind to each other, fond of each other; they had even been _friends._

 _"When people remember you and your_ beautiful _Lyanna, it will not be with love."_

Elia had been right.

Perhaps the only person more hated by the Seven Kingdoms than Lyanna was himself, by smallfolk and nobles alike. He knew the moment he took the throne that his reign would not be one where love powered their loyalty. And so, he needed _power_ to power loyalty. He had enacted the reparations to showcase his _uncontested_ power, in the hopes that the country's love of Elia would nullify their hatred of Rhaegar when it came time for Aegon to take the throne.

And it would be Aegon.

He knows that there are some whispers that he meant to depose Aegon as his heir, and give the seat to Lyanna's son. But that had never been the intent. It had not gone the way it was supposed to. Lyanna was supposed to have a _daughter_. Not a son. A daughter to be the third head, three Targaryens, a pact of ice and fire, dragons reborn – spreading their wings and flying across the sky.

* * *

 **Cersei grew up craving power**

* * *

Cersei Lannister: a beautiful girl born with a name that demanded respect, in a castle that exuded status, and in finery that screamed wealth. She grew up accustomed to getting what she wanted, when she wanted it. And perhaps the consequence of such an indulgent upbringing is the desperate drive for the rare item one is without. In her case, that elusive entity had always been _power_.

For all the power inherent in her family name, others refused her the same power that they gave freely to her brother. And so she grew up craving it, yet having it continually wrenched from her keen grasp. She wanted to learn swordplay, yet her father forbade it ( _"Ladies don't fight with weapons, they fight with whispers and heirs"_ ). She wanted to save her mother, yet the Gods refused her ( _"The gods have no mercy, that's why they're gods"_ ). She wanted to be Queen, and Rhaegar Targaryen denied her _("The King has ordered you wed Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End"_ ).

Power: denied to her solely based on her gender. Cersei never forgives the world for this.

* * *

 _284 AC_

Stannis Baratheon is not as handsome as his brother is purported to be, is Cersei's first thought as she notices the young man at the end of the aisle, standing before the Storm's End Septon. The dark and thick fabric of his duvet ends at his elbows, baring the mottled skin of his burned arm for the world to see.

Cersei holds her head high, draped in white silks intricately laced with gold, collared by luminescent diamonds and haloed by a ruby studded veil. She knows herself to be a vision. "The most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms," the Storm Lords and their Ladies whisper in awe as she takes her dainty steps towards her new name. _'And yet for all my beauty,'_ she thinks bitterly, ' _I am no Queen. I merely move from being the daughter of a Great Lord to the wife of one, still with no power to call my own_.'

Her husband-to-be is unexpectedly unimpressed with her magnificence (or at the very least, very good at hiding his desire). The stoic man's expression remains unchanged, despite the gapping mouths and hungry eyes of his bannermen _. 'Perhaps he is a sword-swallower,'_ Cersei ponders caustically, _'at this point, after these past tumultuous years, I would hardly be surprised with anything.'_

Cersei stands before him now, and uses this closer view to gauge that while he is no Robert Baratheon, Stannis is hardly unattractive either. She imagines most would forgive the larger jaw and heavy brow for his striking cobalt eyes and smooth ink-black locks. He is sinewy, but tall and broad-shouldered. He towers over her by almost a foot, despite being only a year older.

Her subtle appraisal of the man done, she returns her attention to the Septon and realizes the old badger is deeming them husband and wife forevermore. Cersei is caught off guard at that. She had not realized that she'd already said the marriage vows in tandem with the not-unattractive man standing in front of her, but clearly she had. Their hands are now locked with a ribbon, while a thick yellow and black cloak rests on her shoulders.

 _'You'll not be a lion forever.'_ A jeering voice echoes in her mind – the words once spit out by an ugly witch in Lannisport, an old woman whose croaking Cersei had last heard many years ago. _'You'll be more black than red, manic then dead.'_ The voice tries to continue, but Cersei internally shakes her head. She shoves the crazy crone's words back into the depths of her mind, dismisses them as she did long ago. _'The old Frog's predictions were already proven false,'_ Cersei reassures herself, _'no need to put stock in the rest of her senseless words.'_

Cersei tugs her attention back to the present, and she finds herself sitting at the head of a grand table, facing a dining hall in the midst of a wedding feast, by the side of her new husband.

 _Cersei Baratheon._

She tests the words in hallways of her head. They don't quite fit, not yet.

The new Lady of Storm's End looks out at the men and women she (her husband) rules over. ' _Strangers. All strangers. Not a single familiar face among them._ ' She wonders if they love her or hate her, love her for her beauty or begrudge her Lannister features. She doubts there will be much complaining during the bedding. At that thought, she almost wretches. She will be stripped down, degraded, in front of _strangers_. Prodded at and laughed at, by men who see her as nothing more than a body for her husband's heir. _Strangers_ for whom she will be put out on display, her entire body bare before them. No one had ever seen her so exposed, and now these vulgar men would see her at her most vulnerable. A proud lion, to be used for the entertainment of sheep. She takes an especially large gulp of wine at the nauseating thought.

She is not _supposed_ to be bitter about Tywin and Jaime's absences.

When her pending marriage was cooly disclosed to her in her father's solar, Cersei had been so uncontrollably furious at being sent away from Casterly Rock that she had demanded they not follow her, lest she claw off their faces. Jaime had been especially affronted by that, and had thrown out some ill-timed witty remark about the integrity of his pretty face. In other circumstances his lackadaisical words might have gathered a laugh from her, but at the time, they had pushed her into slamming the door and stomping away.

She knows why she really banned their presence here.

And that is the horrible truth: they would not have come anyways. There was still tension after the war, lands to be rebuilt, lords to appease, power to display, and Tywin needed his heir to show solidarity, etcetera, etcetera, and etcetera. Jaime would never go against their father, not even for her. She had banned her father and brother because at least then she felt she had some control over the situation, as if she had made the choice to not have them here. She could pretend to be a girl who was choosing to leave, instead of a girl being thrown out of her home, bartered away to another land, and not even given the care of a familiar escort.

 _'Did I mean so little?'_

She shoves the stray thought back deep into her mind. It brings up feelings that twist her gut, feelings which she prefers to ignore. She has her goblet refilled.

 _'I'd even take Tyrion,'_ she admits to herself now, a pleasant buzz settling in her head. _'At least he could be good for conversation, if nothing else._ '

Tyrion Lannister: her Imp of a brother, the persistent thorn in her side. Cersei was never quite sure what to do about him. The brat had killed her mother, ripped through her on his way into the world. And yet he was a Lannister, another person not held as high in Tywin's eyes because of his status as _'not-Jaime, not my heir, not worth my time_ _—_ _'_

"TIME FOR THE BEDDING!" Shouts a Lord, and Cersei freezes. ' _NO!'_ She screams in her mind. _'Touch me and I'll have your hand sliced from your arm, I'll have your head on spikes, I'll have your—'_

"There will be no such thing." She hears the heavy and imperturbable voice of her new husband. "Sit down, Lord Horpe." Stannis orders. "Enjoy your food, I believe the musicians are plenty sufficient entertainment for tonight." The latter courtesy seems forced from his lips, and Cersei hears the warning in it as his eyes stay steady on his Vassal Lord.

The large man - Lord Horpe, she assumes - grumbles, then wobbles, but re-takes his seat. Chatter and music resume as they were.

Cersei unclenches her fists, her smooth palms dented with faint little half-moons of almost-blood. _'Thank you.'_ She thinks, but can't bring herself to say, starring down harshly at her plate because she is unable to look at her husband.

.x.

When Stannis takes her hand, and leads them out of the hall to retire for the evening, the newlyweds have still yet to a speak a word to each other. Not since the Sept when they said their vows in synchrony, phrases Cersei can't even remember saying, but ancient words that now lock her to him for life.

They enter what she supposes are their chambers, and Cersei no longer holds her tongue. "Why no bedding?" She spent the rest of the feast analyzing his intervention again and again, and found no ulterior motive. But surely there must be one. Everyone always as a reason. ( _"No favour comes without a price," Lord Tywin once advised eight-year-old Cersei_ ).

Stannis turns and looks at her, a confused bend in his dense brow. "I imagine the whole ordeal is a barely tolerable practice for women, even when they have at least their father and brothers to ensure no feast goer's hands become too inappropriate. It is one thing when it is being done by men who have known you since childhood, and respect you enough not to be too aggressive, despite being drunk. But I would not subject you to that here, where you know no one, where these men know you are a stranger to me, and have no reason yet to care for your comfort." He pauses, and his nose twitches. "I am also not duty-bound to offer you to them as some sort of show."

Cersei still doesn't understand. "And why does my comfort matter anything to you?"

Stannis frowns, still standing in the middle of their chambers, just like her. "I do not know what you have heard of me, My Lady, but I hope it is nothing to suggest that I would force you to do anything against your will."

Cersei gives a pointed look to the bed behind her shoulder. "I imagine my comfort won't matter for much longer, My Lord." Her bitter words are forced through a tight smile, at this point she expects him to shove her onto the bed and hoist himself atop her, ripping off her dress before ripping through her maidenhead. After all, that is what she knows. Men who take because they can, women who get taken from because they don't have the power to stop it. (Power, and her lack of it, that is what it always comes down to in the end.) She looks down to her feet, focuses on her silk slippers and notes their delicate nature, gut churning at how easily they could be torn.

Stannis sighs. "A wedding is not complete until consummated. I wish we did not have to do this as strangers, but we have a duty to our houses and a duty to our kingdoms to see this marriage complete."

Cersei is unsurprised, still waiting to be shoved, eyes now glaring holes into the carpet.

An outstretched palm enters her field of vision, and she looks at it, confused.

"Once to satisfy our duty, and I swear never again unless you expressly permit it."

 _'The choice is mine,'_ realizes Cersei, staring bewildered at his open palm. It is the burned one, she realizes, as her eyes follow the mottled skin. There he is, willingly offering her the weakest, most scarred part of him. Cersei has never been given a choice before. She has fought for control, of course, wrestled the world relentlessly for her own ability to choose. But, she has never had control given to her so freely, not like Stannis offers now.

* * *

 **Cersei is ordered to wed Stannis. That is not why she stays with him.**

* * *

A month into being the Lady of Storm's End, and Cersei is… surprised.

After the first night (when dawn's light fell against two bare bodies under a sheet, one asleep and the other held to consciousness by racing thoughts), she suspected his open palm to be an empty gesture, a trick that she had naively fallen for so he might tell his _honorable_ self that he had not forced her. She had thought it a false move, but he held true. He did not ever barge into their chambers drunk, demanding his rights as her husband. He instead enters their chambers quietly in the evening, and sleeps on his side of the featherbed, not a hand out of place.

So, she quickly came to accept that he would not physically force her, but her thoughts continued to race. She instead suspected he would try other ways to manipulate the situation. In fact, she expected him to ignore her, avoid her, and instruct his staff to do the same. She thought he would leave her alone in this new kingdom and this new castle, until she grew so desperate for any attention that she threw herself at him. Only that did not happen either. Quite the _opposite_.

Stannis actively invited her presence. He asked her if she wanted to sit in with him to hear the complaints of the smallfolk. He invited her to the meetings where the Storm Lords came to report the statuses of their Keeps. He asked her if she wished to join him in approving the stone masons' sketches and numbers for rebuilding war-damaged lands. She even stood by his side as they _both_ worked to figure out which lands to refurbish first so that they could be prepared for the planting of new crops.

In these meetings, she was not just a trophy. Not just a pretty silent thing for him to carry on his arm as an accessory. No, she voiced her opinion and he listened. She never needed to shout for his attention, to fight for his consideration. He gave it to her freely.

He _respected_ her.

And slowly, with every night he doesn't force her and every day he asks her opinion, she begins to respect him too.

 _'Perhaps it had been respect that I had really craved.'_ She thinks one night, staring at the ceiling of their chambers, well attuned to the slumbering form not even a meter away from her _. 'Before… had I mistaken power for respect?'_ She turns towards her husband, whose face looks so much younger when it is not fixed in the stoic frown he wears in the day. She has the uncontrollable urge to trace his true face, and her hand is halfway across the bed before she stops it with an iron force and a clenched fist. _'He is my husband.'_ She chastises herself. _'I'll not steal touches as though… as though...'_ She turns herself huffily in the other direction, her back to Stannis, not finishing her thought and frowning at the way her hand tingles.

.x.

On her wedding day, Cersei was a maiden.

Not in every sense, of course. She had lost her first kiss to Jaimie when they were children. Had almost convinced herself that she held non-familial thoughts for him before the Mad King had him sent away to King's Landing. They'd never gone further than secret kisses and straying hands, too young to know exactly what to do next and both all too aware that if Cersei wed the Prince she would need to be intact.

That first night with her husband had been… awkward. Far from romantic, but it had been… kind. And he had been perhaps more than a bit endearing in his innocence. She had liked that he had been somewhat lost, a sign to her that he was nothing like his reputed whore-mongering brother.

But each time she feels the weight of him on their bed, each time she follows the way the muscles in his back move when he switches from one shirt to another, she feels an ache in her stomach and a burning between her legs. While Cersei was a maiden prior to her wedding night, she is hardly a septa. She recognizes her growing desire to be with him… her rising need to have him desire _her_.

And yet he keeps his virtuous vigil, steadfast in his resolution from their wedding night. At first, Cersei starts to grow annoyed. He has the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms in his bed, and yet this man does _nothing!_

And then Cersei begins to get paranoid.

 _'Perhaps he has a lover?'_ Her mind taunts, _'one even more beautiful than you.'_

 _'Not possible.'_ She snarks back. But then a deeper fear is uncovered. Perhaps it is not his eyes that she does not hold.

Does he not succumb to her beauty because his _heart_ belongs to another? He had never been betrothed before her. But… what if… that had been _intentional_? Had he held off his own betrothal for a secret lover? Someone low in station, someone who he loved so much he would not dare lust for his wife? Some buxom redhead with smooth skin and long legs, or a svelte brunette with free curls swirling about a pretty face? Stannis did come to their bed at night, but who is to say he didn't visit his lover during the day? Perhaps he sought out the whore when he was away from Cersei's eyes. Perhaps they secluding themselves in a secret room. Perhaps he whispered sweet nothings to into her ear as he bedded the wretch, all while telling her how he _loved_ her and could never love his wife. What if Stannis had only played innocent their first night just to allay Cersei's suspicions? Or perhaps the open palm had been his own shield, a way to keep them from hurting the woman he truly wanted to be with. Did he make his little vow to not force his wife only to prevent an heir? Perhaps he meant to claim Cersei as infertile, annul their marriage and take his lowborn whore into his house and his bed – appease his bannermen with an heir, and with a new Lady who he'd let be bedded on their wedding night. Did all of their kingdom's lords and ladies know? Did they laugh behind her back, at the gullible Lannister girl who knew not that another held her husband's lov- _affection_?

 _'No!'_ Cersei seethes _. 'I will not be so shamed in my own home. I'll not allow my husband to stray. I'll find his conniving little whore, and rid us of her.'_

So she resolves to be with Stannis even on the rare occasions when there were no smallfolk to be seen, lords to be heard, and workers to be ordered. Every minute she could be with him, she spent with him. Keeping an eye out for a place he passed by too frequently to explain, a bypassing servant girl who took too many rounds.

Two moons later, and nothing. No buxom redheads that he passes too frequently, and no smiling brunettes that pass by him too frequently.

 _'But they will,'_ her mind whispers. _'Soon he will seek what you deny him from another, and then you will lose him too.'_

* * *

Stannis hates the mark on his arm.

He is glad to still be able to move it. The contracted scar tissue makes it so his range of motion is not full, but overall the tendons and muscles had been relatively spared, per the castle's Maester.

He had not been the handsomest man before being branded, and part of him is more than a little ashamed of the deformity. A part of him hates that he has yet another unattractive feature to show before his wife – a woman who is lauded by the entire Realm for her incomparable beauty.

Cersei Lannister, now Cersei Baratheon… It has been months into their marriage, and Stannis is still not sure what to think of his wife.

Prior to her arrival, he had been more than a little insecure. He was well aware that had things been different, had Aerys not gone mad, that she would have been Queen. And there was the crux of his insecurity; the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, an almost-Queen, daughter of the richest kingdom, ordered into marrying a second son with a hideously burned arm.

She arrived at Storm's End the morning of their wedding. And when he saw the size of her company, he nearly balked.

The Lannisters had sent her here with nothing more than the basics: some serving girls, some guards, some handmaidens, and a seamstress. Stannis knew why, of course. He had grown up alongside enough Storm Lords with the same perspective as the infamous Lord Tywin Lannister – their support came when their daughter had a child. An heir with their blood. Moreover, this had hardly been an arrangement between two kingdoms. This match had been ordered by the King as part of war reparations, and the last thing either of the war-weakened Stormlands and Westerlands wanted was King Rhaegar fearing the two lands were amassing and plotting against him.

He had welcomed her to the Keep, and then had his staff direct her to the rooms she could use to get ready for their wedding ceremony. She truly was gorgeous, he noted when he first saw her exit her carriage. She was as beautiful as she was fabled to be, but she was coldly polite and formal in her brief introduction with him. He remembers doubting she would have ever considered him for anything – let alone her husband – prior to Rhaegar's Reparations, and feeling a bit nauseous at the thought that this entire situation had been forced on her.

She had strolled down the aisle with the grace of a goddess, absolutely radiant. But when she came closer, he had seen the way her eyes were blank and her small smile was as set as stone. He felt that twisting in his gut again – the knowledge that she was being trapped, and that he was to be her jailer.

They did not speak outside their vows, ceremony to feast, not a word. Her eyes remained blank, her polite smile fixed on her face. But then there was a call for the bedding and he saw it – saw her blank gaze give way to fear, to unbridled panic. He saw the way her fists clenched and her eyes watered.

He knew denying the Storm Lords the opportunity to partake in the bedding with such a sought-after bride would annoy them, but hardly more than that. They respected him for taking his branding like a Stormlander, for outwitting the Tyrell siege as a commander untested, and for all the work he had already done to repair the war-torn areas of their lands. They would not begrudge him this, and Stannis had known that, so he offered his new wife a way out.

And when her words relayed the way she expected him to treat her, he had felt the foulest man in the entire Realm. He still regretted it to this day, asking her to give him her maidenhead the night of their wedding, when they had been naught but strangers. But, it had been their duty so he had done it despite the roiling of his moral compass. And now he heard a traitorous voice in his mind that woke him up every evening, that whispered perhaps he had liked it more than he should have, that perhaps he wouldn't mind having her again.

After their wedding, he asked for her to accompany him to his official duties because, in truth, he didn't quite know _how_ to be romantic. But at least if he kept her involved and busy then perhaps she would not realize it. Moreover, she was smart, he thought. Not unfailingly so, but she had clearly absorbed bits of her father's teachings over the years. She had the ability to see things from the perspective of someone who did not prioritize honor above their goals. She had the ability to know how to sway a man to their view with mere words. Stannis appreciates it, because not all of his lords think as he does, and she has become quite adept at playing Lannister when a Storm Lord needs their reality checked, as well as maneuvering disgruntled lords into accepting his plans.

Of course he and Cersei disagree, not always but often enough, on how to deal with arising issues. And its takes a while, but he teaches her how not to think of pride first (he suspects she still does, but she is at least less obvious about it), and he learns from her how to truly analyze a man's motives. He even finds his definition of duty growing just a touch more flexible.

They settle into a comfortable routine, and she seems content. He begins to feel a bit better about the life he had stolen from her. But then she starts spending time outside of their work with him, and he is lost. Unsure of what to talk about, or where to take her, or how to deal with her at all, really. (But her shift is easier than Renly's, so he figures he will leave his brother for when he has figured out his wife.)

He has yet to decipher her, and so, is completely dumbstruck when he enters their chambers one evening to see the room lit up with candles, and her dressed in a sheer night dress. He is further dumbfounded when she slowly approaches him. His eyes and mind are wholly entranced by the way the silky fabric brushes against her smooth ivory skin, and then he is jolted aware when he feels her warm hand on his chest. He feels the heat of her palm through his clothes, and he wonders if she hears how loudly his heart is beating against her hand. He is still shocked still, not meeting her eyes and instead alternating his focus from her shoulder to her hand.

He is confused, so utterly unsure of what exactly she wants from him. Until he feels her stand on her toes to kiss the base of his neck. He takes her arms immediately then, and gently pushes her away.

(He is fond of her now, after all these months of being by her side, and unsure if he can take her solely because her father is demanding an heir from her. He ignores the part of him that suspects it might hurt him more than just a little if that is the only reason she wishes to bed him again.)

He stays still, his eyes now on the carpet even has his hands gently grip her upper arms to keep her a distance away. He should let her go, he knows, but his hands refuse to listen to him, glued to her soft skin. She solves the issue though, when she shoves her own hands against his chest and wriggles out of his grip.

"Am I so unattractive to you?!" She yells as she wretches herself away from him.

Stannis stands there, stunned and unsure of what to say because how in the Seven Hells has she come to that conclusion?

She continues in her rage. "That you could sleep by my side, night by night, and not even have a _single_ urge to bed me!"

Bewildered, Stannis sighs. ' _Wives_ ,' he thinks, astounded, _'are even more difficult to understand than war.'_

He is embarrassed by the hoarseness of his voice, but he responds. "I was quite clear on her our wedding night. And you were too. I am confused as to what exactly you want from me?"

She seems to only be half listening, half in her head trying to figure something out, as if he is the one baffling her, which only confuses Stannis further. Then her green eyes alight in fury, a dark flame he has never seen in her before.

"Tell me true then!" She screams, "Is there another? There must me. Who is she? Tell me, tell me now. I'll have her… I'll have her thrown from the ramparts, I'll—"

This time Stannis cuts off her ranting, affronted. "I'd never dishonor you like tha—"

Cersei seems torn, her rage only intensifying as she cuts him off in return. "You dishonor me by not putting an heir in me! By having the entirety of the Stormlands and the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms thing me _barren!"_

Stannis was definitely not expecting _that._ "We've been wed barely seven months," he nearly scoffs, "I doubt anyone calls you barren."

And perhaps his scoff was poorly done, because she steps towards him once more and starts fiercely hitting her hands against his chest, with all of her strength.

.x.

Cersei hits his chest, her heart twisting and her breath barely reaching her lungs. _Bang, bang, bang._ Her heart and her fists beat in sync, an angry rhythm. ' _Why don't you love me!' S_ he wants to scream at him.

And then his hands are gripping her forearms, stopping her sloppy assault. She frowns, then glares down at her feet, not willing to let him steal her thoughts from her eyes. "What is this really about?" He all but orders. "Speak, plainly."

But Cersei will not do it. No, she'll not embarrass herself so. Not anymore than she already has with this stupid, stupid, _stupid_ display. She refuses to splay her heart out for him, only to have him laugh at her face.

"Nothing!" She screeches at the floor. "It was about _nothing_!" And then she wrenches her arms from his grasp once more, turns, grabs the nearest cloak by the door – ready to wrap herself in it and storm out of this _stupid idea_ that she should _never_ have _ever_ done, and _damn it all_ why is her vision blurring, she can barely see the damned door. She has only just barely turned the knob, hearing the door begin to creak open when –

Her husband's hands close the door.

She feels his sturdy chest behind her, not even an inch from her back, with both his arms outstretched above her shoulders and his palms pressed against the door, preventing her escape. His hands had not shut the wooden door in a loud slam, or an angry thud. No, it had been a soft pressure that had prevented her from indulging her dark thoughts, the ones that tempted her to run all the way back to the Westerlands.

" _Cersei_ ," he implores. She jars at that. This is the first time he has used her name, and she _likes_ the way it sounds coming from him. The way his deep baritone says it so smoothly. "Please," he continues "tell me what you want."

And perhaps her name from his lips had weakened her resolve, because she finds the truth slipping from her lips against her better judgement. "I want you to _want_ me. As a woman _,_ as your wife, as…" _'As someone you love. Someone you love more than anything and anyone. I want you to care for me most of all. I want someone to always pick me first, and I want that someone to be you.'_

"Do not be offended…" he begins and she feels her gut sink. Cersei feels so foolish in that moment. She had shown him her weakness, and here he stood posing to strangle her with it. Perhaps he senses her bristle, because he is quick to continue. "…when I ask this, but, is this because of word from your father?"

Cersei blinks. ' _What?'_ She turns to face him, her emerald eyes meeting a now familiar dark blue. "What does my _father_ have to do with this?"

.x.

Stannis is unsure how to convey to her that he does not want her to launder herself out to him because her father demands an heir from her. He only knows that they stand on a very precipitous edge, and if he handles this poorly there will be no way to ever undo it. Stannis takes in a deep breath before asking her, "has he commanded an heir of you, is that the only reason you want this?"

 _'Is that the only reason you want me?'_ Is what he doesn't ask.

She seems thrown, and he thinks it justice for just a second, for her to finally be the one who is confused.

Cersei's puzzled expression makes way for one of exasperation. "Dear Seven, help me." She rolls her eyes. "How can a man rule an entire kingdom, and yet be so _dense?_ "

He is insulted for a second, and makes to tell her exactly why he is not dense, and list examples, but she speaks again.

"No." She says firmly, truthfully. And then she cuts off whatever he would have said by throwing her arms around his neck, and kissing him.

.x.

A few heated kisses and hungry touches later, and they are tangled on their bed. Stannis atop her and gripping her bare hip with one hand and her cheek with another. He pulls his mouth from hers, but her arms around his back keep him close. In that moment he curses his own inexperience. But this time it will be better for her, he will make it better for her. So he pushes the words out through a clenched jaw, and feels heat rush to his cheeks. "I… am unsure how to make it… better for you."

She still looks a bit dazed from their kiss so he continues. "I don't… frequent brothels or the like. I'm not - I am not sure how to make this easier for you?" He grits his teeth, hating how hard it is to admit something to her, a woman who deserves so much more than his uncertainty.

Surprisingly, she smiles silkily at his words. She then brings her mouth to his ear and whispers with her heated breath, "I suppose we learn together then."

.x.

Cersei quite likes this specific power – the ability to make such a stoic man come undone. She revels in it; how her husband is ice to others, but melts at her touch. She is the only one who has this sway over him, the only one he holds so close.

He had given her his respect and then what he could of his heart, and she finds herself giving him the same.

* * *

 **Cersei does not know what to make of the little Baratheon boy who spends the days wafting about the castle, quiet as a ghost.**

* * *

 _'Perhaps you'll be a rambunctious little boy with his bold eyes, driving your father mad with your antics. Or maybe you'll have his quiet kindness, be stern and strong - a leader all the kingdoms will write songs about. I bet you'll be more skilled with a sword than even Jaime, and a skilled commander like my father and yours. Or maybe you'll be our precious little girl – dancing about the castle to the sound of storms with blonde locks flying behind you and my own eyes staring back at me.'_

Cersei wonders as she wanders, unable to stifle the small smile on her lips as she rubs her growing stomach.

But then her ponderings of the future are hijacked by an echo from the past.

 _'A child with a crown.'_ Maggie the Frog's words resurface, and refuse to submerge back into the depths of her memories. _'A child with a crown, burned to the ground.'_

Cersei is so distracted by one ghost she nearly crashes into another.

"Apologies" the black-topped boy whispers before trying to circumvent her and go about his way.

"Stop." Cersei orders, watching the boy's back as he halts his movement. In truth, Cersei finds Renly Baratheon… disconcerting. The boy is always quietly skulking about, avoiding everyone in the castle. She sees Stannis's eyes gloss over in worry every time he looks at the boy. She approaches the younger Baratheon, telling herself as she does so that this is nothing so soft as a gesture for her husband. _'It is... it is a way to ... it is ... well…'_ She needs him on her side, she justifies to herself. She needs to ensure no one will ever try to take her son's seat. _'That is the reason why I do this,'_ Cersei reassures herself. _'This is just an occasional kindness to spare my child all sorts of trouble down the road.'_

She tells the boy to accompany her to the library, and he does. He almost forgets to take her arm, and she quickly chastises him for it. "Are your courtesies so far gone that you would have a Lady walk by your side unattended?"

He blushes readily, and Cersei quickly quiets her own amusement at just how much he reminds her of an embarrassed Stannis in that moment.

They reach the library, and the boy makes to leave, before she instructs him again that she would like his company while she finds a book to occupy her time. "What if there is a book that catches my interest, and it is too low for me to reach for... in my current state?"

Their arms stay interlocked as they walk slowly through the large shelves brimming with books. Cersei observes as they stroll. She sees how the boy seems to keep his eyes away from her, looking to the ground as if he is but a lowly servant instead of the youngest son of a Great Lord.

Cersei points to a random book on the lower shelves. At his confused pause, she gives him a raised brow that instructs without words that yes, he better well damned get it for her. When he hands her the tome, she struts her way to the nearest upholstered chair and he follows. She refuses to admit she is waddling because she would never do something so unladylike as _waddle_.

She sits, much to the relief of her back, and quickly eyes the title of her chosen read: _Argella Durrandon: The Last Storm Queen._ It is a legend Cersei hazily recalls. _'_ _Argella Durrandon - t_ _he one who was forced to wed a bastard-Targaryen_ ,' Cersei remembers, before carelessly dumping the book on an old marble side table and eying the boy before her with a stern frown.

"You were never so quiet before," Cersei prods.

The boy shrugs. (And perhaps boy is the wrong word, he may be 8 years of age but already is easily as tall as any young man three years older.)

Cersei nearly rolls her eyes. Must all Baratheon men be so unfailingly reticent? It is like pulling teeth sometimes, getting them to speak their true thoughts.

"Why now?" Cersei continues to prod. "I have spoken with the staff. You scream in your sleep. What is it that you dream of?"

Renly's eyes stay fastened to the floor, but he responds. "I thought they were going to kill Stannis. When he was screaming, and he was screaming so loud, for a second, I had wished the king would just end his suffering. Would kill him just to stop him from being in so much pain. And all those courtiers, they just… they just _watched_ Stannis screaming and they did _nothing."_ His burned hand – the left one - clenches, and he loudly gulps in air before pulling his gaze from the floor and looking right at her. "And when they brought me before the king, I thought… I thought he was going to kill me. I thought he was going to kill me and make Stannis watch. And I had never been so scared of anything."

That Renly had answered so easily and honestly threw Cersei off, and she supposes her surprise shows on her face, because the boy's mouth tugs into a small attempt at a smile before he continues. "It was not some big secret. You're just the only one who has asked."

Cersei nods, unsure of how to reply to such a personal revelation. She falls back on her own upbringing, and imagines what her father might do.

"So will you do about it?" Cersei orders. "The fear?"

Renly bristles. "I am _not_ afraid now—"

"Yes, you are." Cersei interrupts. "You are afraid to be happy lest the King swoop down in the night to take away your happiness."

Renly's eyes widen.

Cersei continues, unfettered by his discomfort. "So I ask you again. _What will you do_?"

Renly frowns, clearly unsure of how she wants him to respond.

Cersei stands from her seat. "Let me tell you what you will not do. You will not cower. You will not make yourself a ghost in your own home. You will not allow that burn to steal your mind. You will not let Rhaegar Targaryen win. You will find some purpose. And you shall fight for it." Cersei's eyes harden. "When you fight against fear, there is no middle ground. You win or you die."

Cersei picks that time to strategically caress her own protruding stomach. Renly's gaze is drawn to it, his expression becoming pensive.

Cersei announces then, her own lips quirking up, "The Maester says he thinks it will be a boy. Low set, or some other such nonsense."

Renly's brow furrows. "There are so few of us now. Those who are Baratheons by blood. He'd be my nephew. I could teach him, protect him from the King." He looks up to her eyes then. "I think I'd like to be strong enough to protect you too."

Cersei almost reflexively retorts that she hardly needs protection from a child, but keeps her mouth shut. Stannis is in her mind then, telling her to not fall automatically to her pride and instead assess the situation for what it really is. And the situation is this: a boy looking for purpose, who has now found one protecting her child.

* * *

 _"So what will you do about it, the fear? … Let me tell you what you will not do. You will not cower. You will not make yourself a ghost in your own home. You will not allow that burn to steal your mind. You will not let Rhaegar Targaryen win. You will find some purpose. And you shall fight for it… when you fight against fear, there is no middle ground. You win or you die."_

Stannis turns the words he overheard again and again in his mind, staring at the mottled skin of his arm.

His fist clenches, and his eyes close.

(Perhaps those had been words he needed to hear too.)

* * *

She finds herself tracing Stannis's burned arm in her sleep. The hard skin, the wiry scars, the mottled ridges, she lets the pads of her fingers slowly memorize it all.

She feels it when he opens his eyes, blearily being pulled out of a deep slumber. He turns his drowsy gaze to her, before letting his good hand come to sift through her golden hair. "Who would we have been, if we hadn't found each other?" Her husband asks her, voice husky from sleep.

Cersei meets his eyes, his own question thrown away for now. "You are not to die." She orders him. "Am I clear?"

Stannis seems more alert at her command. He gives her a strange look before staring at her stomach, his hand twitches and she rolls her eyes before taking his hand from her hair and placing it on her stomach.

Stannis's voice grows hoarser. "Then you are not to die either."

He voices a fear that lingers too close to the front of her mind; her own mother had died in the birthing bed. Would Cersei? She knows that she would, if it was a choice. She would die if it meant saving her child. But… if she died, would Stannis hate her child the way her father hated Tyrion? The idea repulses her. And then she is struck with a cold realization. One that nearly drowns her in guilt.

 _It had not been Tyrion's fault._

 _'What would mother think of me?'_

What would her mother think of how she and her father ignored Tyrion. Of how she insulted her youngest brother for not being beautiful like her and Jaime. Of how she diminished any of his achievements, and cheered at his failures. Of how she had prayed for his death for months after his birth, begging the gods to kill the monster and give her mother back. Of how she _hated_ the child her mother had sacrificed her life to bring into this world.

 _'She would not forgive me.'_ Acknowledges Cersei. _'She would hate me, just as I would hate any who dared harm my child.'_ Cersei's eyes begin to burn, and she sees Stannis's eyes widen in alarm. "It's not you," she lets out, hating how wet her voice sounds. "It's just… it's just these _damned hormones._ " She asserts. And yet, she still lets Stannis pull her close to him, wrap her in his arms, and guide her face into the dip of his neck. She breathes through her tears, inhaling his familiar and comforting scent.

* * *

Cersei walks into Stannis's solar, full of intent and self-assurance. "I am writing a letter."

Stannis quirks a brow from his seat behind the desk. "And you're asking permission?" He hedges, clearly unsure of what to make of her declaration.

"Of course not." Cersei huffs. "I am merely informing you that my younger brother will be coming to stay with us."

Stannis gives her a confused look before turning to finish signing off on whatever he had been writing. He sighs wearily, clearly not too keen on facing her reaction to his upcoming words. "Tywin is unlikely to let Jaime leave Casterly Rock until he gets an heir on his wife."

"Not _that_ brother. The other one." Cersei corrects, and Stannis stops writing. He looks to her, almost cautiously.

 _'Really?'_ she internally grumps, _'I have not been so mercurial that he should censure his every thought!'_

Perhaps he reads her growing annoyance, because he quickly voices his contemplations. "I was under the impression that Tyrion Lannister was the only thing you were happy to leave in Casterly Rock."

Cersei's next words are sharp, biting. "I am not so cruel!" And she isn't (not anymore).

Stannis backtracks, his hands before him, palms toward her in a settling motion one might use to calm an irate animal. "I was too blunt, I did not mean to offend you. Of course he can stay here."

Cersei purses her lips, petulant. "I _wasn't_ asking."

Stannis gives her a knowing look and slowly nods "Of course not." His face stays the same but his eyes are clearly amused.

"He will be good for Renly." Cersei announces.

"You do not need to convince me, I have already agreed."

"I am not trying to convince you, because I am not asking for permission. I'm merely _informing_ you, as I have _already_ said." She says emphatically.

"Consider me informed, my lady." His lip quirks to the side, and she feels her own stomach clench at the look. ' _Damned hormones.'_ She struts up to his desk, and takes great pleasure in dramatically grabbing his own ink and quill set before making her way out of his solar.

(His almost-smiles are hers. She is the only one who brings them out, and she takes a good deal of pride in that. She imagines when he holds his son, she might even get a grin out of him.)

.x.

The Stormlanders respect her. They see her standing tall by Stannis's side, acting as his partner, and they begin to consider her one of their own. The Stormland's nobles and smallfolk alike grow in their affections for their Liege Lady. She is no longer Tywin Lannister's daughter to them. She is Cersei Baratheon: fierce and unyielding, like the strongest of storms.

.x.

 _285 AC_

Cerseis stands out on the balcony of their chambers, gazing at the darkening sky and the darker waves that crash against the ragged cliffs. She is maybe days away from her delivery, if the Maester's words hold true.

Her husband quietly comes up behind her, and places his warm hands on her shoulders.

"The night grows colder," he tells her. "You should rest, inside."

Cersei doesn't move, her eyes fixated on the waves.

She hears Stannis sigh. "Cersei, please come inside."

Transfixed, Cersei cannot take her eyes off the way the tides attempt to savagely rip the rock from the cliffs. _'What will it be like, to die? To be ripped from this world, cursed to watch my child grow up without me?'_ Cersei nearly loses her breath when she sees a chunk of rock become dislodged from its perch. She watches its descent to the sea with morbid fascination.

"If something happens to me—"

Stannis cuts her off with a vehement hiss, turning her away from the destructive view. "Don't say such—"

" _If something happens to me_ ," she reiterates, annoyed at being interrupted and manhandled. "You'll not treat my child the way my father treats Tyrion. Swear it to me."

Stannis looks almost as affronted as he had been on their wedding night. "I'd never—"

Cersei sneers. "I'm sure my mother thought my father would never either, but look at how that turned out. Now _swear it to me._ " She raises her hands to clutch his duvet, pulling at it fiercely as she looks up at him. "Swear it!"

"If something happens to you – which it will _not_ – then I will not waiver in my love for our child. I swear it on every god." He looks deeply in her eyes as he makes his vow, likely sensing that she needs this to calm whatever storm is churning inside of her.

"Good" Cersei nods, seemingly calmer. She leans her forehead into his chest, eyes watering, a feeling of dread sinking in her gut. "Good. That's good."

 _"Evil ends are met by evil children."_

The voice laughs.

 _"Punished for sins you would have committed."_

The voice from her past doesn't stop.

 _"What a haunting end your child will meet, for history loves to repeat."_

 _'If I do not survive this,'_ Cersei tries her best to stifle out the voice of past and instead seek comfort in her present. It is with a heavy heart that she sinks into her husband's solid hold and embraces the familiarity of his scent. _'If I do not survive this... I am glad to have known you.'_

* * *

 **A/N: Review pretty please - what do you think of Rhaegar and Viserys? Cersei and Stannis? The bits of Maggy's prophecy you've heard so far? Grammar/spelling mistakes?**

 **A/N 2:** **okay, so truth is, this chapter is now being split into two (maybe even three) parts because it is such a monster. Cersei and Stannis, in my outline, were supposed to be like 300 words tops. Just a little peak into what Shireen was born into. But I just couldn't stop writing them *shrugs*. Whoops?**

 **(Also, did you guys catch all the shouts outs to cannon? Hope so ;) Keep an eye out for them throughout the fic. I enjoy using canon lines but giving them to others in my fics)**

 **Anyways, next up on the slate:**

-Rhaenys and Lyanna

-Lyanna's thoughts on the rebellion and her choices

-Lewyn's thoughts

-Rickon's thoughts on his brothers

-Rickon and Rhaenys try to run away

 **Sneak peaks:**

"Rhaenys does not hate Lyanna, despite everyone thinking she should."

"Lyanna had never meant for her family to break"

"Lewyn faced an impossible choice: duty or honor"

"Rickon is not born hating his brothers. He learns to."

"Rickon cannot lose Rhaenys, especially not like this, dying in a bed as his mother had."

 **"They cannot crown a corpse."**

* * *

 **Inspiration pics and casting (with mentally edited colouring to match their descriptions): **

**Inspiration pics and casting (with mentally edited colouring to match their descriptions):**

 **Swap the "(period)" for a period into your browser.**

 **Young Rickeen** :

66(period)media(period)tumblr(period)com/aaaeb398ae81461e2dc7a30c464cdeea/tumblr_mt2o312VyJ1qgtn0oo1_500(period)png (if the link doesn't work, to find this pic, google: the wild wolf prince and the stone princess)

 **Older Rickeen** :

66(period)media(period)tumblr(period)com/0024dbb31d202f80a082707779641a8c/tumblr_o9oygs8mtz1qhrh9to3_r1_500(period)gif (if the link doesn't work, to find this gif, google: she is precious to him rickon Shireen)

 **Rickon** **Targaryen** – a cross between jamie dornan as he is portrayed in OUAT (as the huntsman) and Henry Cavill as he is portrayed in the Tudors season 2&3

 **Shireen Baratheon** – Sarah Bolger as she was portrayed in the Tudors and in OUAT

 **Rhaenys Martell** – google "Elia Martell by LyaStark" – it's exactly how I picture Rhaenys. Link: pm1(period)narvii(period)com/6159/382f80da326450c9281dc6d666932c9cf852a7c3_hq(period)jpg

I guess the actress-equivalent might be Aditi Rao Hydari?

 **Elia Martell** – Freida pinto (google Freida pinto Elia Martell for some awesome manips!)

 **Lyanna Stark** – Adelaide Kane - as she is in Reign

 **Eddard Stark (pre-Sean Bean)** \- James McAvoy - as he is in www(period)ablogofthrones(period)com/ideal-casting-game-thrones-roberts-rebellion-movie-mini-series/

 **Rhaegar Targaryen** – Bradley James - as he is in Merlin

 **Stannis and Cersei** – older versions of Aneurin Barnard (Richard III) and Faye Marsay (Anne Neville)

* * *

 **Response to reviews – HUGE thank you to all my reviewers!**

* * *

 **Guest** \- remember, chapter 1 was a lot of gossip and other people's POV, when you see Aegon's POV, hopefully that will add some more balance ;) In part 2 you might see a bit of a twist in the expected 'alliances' though! Thanks for the review!

 **miles** \- far point. I tried to give Lyanna and Rhaegar some sympathy, the former in the next part and the latter earlier in the chapter. I still think Rhaegar has zero political acumen though, given how he went about things. Thanks for the review!

 **Laurenbull** – so you (and ichiruki43) get credit for saving Gendry. I went back to chapter 1 and wrote him in, and now have a gendrya plot brewing in my mind. Side note: I have an upcoming "Gendry reborn as a true-born Arryn with all his memories of the past" gendrya fic brewing in my head, chapter 1 outline scribbled down, so if you're interested, expect that in the next few months ;) I definitely like the idea of Gendry being born to Cersei – I've seen a coupl3 of other fics do it – it just couldn't happen in this fic because of some of the future conflicts I'm planning. You will still get gendrya though ;) And dude, you literally called the Arya and Rhaegar bit – but hopefully the way I handle it will be a bit of a surprise ;) Thanks for the review!

 **AGirlHasNoName** – I do some mental time bending when I read Arya and Jaime fics to minimize their age gap. That being said, this is medieval times – e.g. Lysa married a man over 30 years older than her (not to imply that her relationship is something anyone should aspire to have, just to say marriages with age aps do happen in these worlds). Thanks for the review!

 **XanderP764** – thank you for your review and kind words! : )

 **RowdyRob** – agree wholeheartedly, thanks for the review!

 **Sageofchaos** – thanks for the review! Hopefully chapter 2 was okay : )

 **Xanmelton** – thanks for your points! I totally get that Rhaegar believed he was fulfilling a prophecy, but the dude couldn't think of a not-so-public four-kingdom's-rage-inducing way to go about it? Crowning Lyanna and humiliating Elia was not necessary – in fact, all it did was clue in everyone that R kidnapped L when no one would have thought to put them together before the crowning. Interesting point made about Lyanna and the raven - I will lessen my dislike of her a little if that ends up being canon. Also to your point re: honour, hopefully Part 2 of this chapter (with Lewyn's POV) will clear it up a bit (don't want to say anymore since spoilers ;) )

Re: 20000, I thought that Dorne was reported to be turtle-slow in coming to the Targaryen's aid, and even Prince Lewyn in canon was threatened into going with a Dornish contingent to the battle of trident by Aerys saying he would hurt Elia – was Oberyn involved in any of these battles in the rebellion? If so, I totally did not know. (but for the purpose of me not having to rewrite another section of this story, I'm going to go with the idea that they were pissed at Rhaegar snubbing Elia and thus slow to come to the Targaryen's aid – essentially neutral – and this is why Rhaegar's reparations would have involved them somehow if he thought it would be necessary (which he doesn't because he knows Dorne won't raise against Elia's son, even if they hate Rhaegar). Thanks for taking the time to point these things out!

 **Ichiruki43** – thanks for your reviews! They're coming up, I promise! Don't want to give too much away right now though ;)

 **Guest** – at the moment I'm heading towards Marg x Aegon, and Willas x Sansa, but those are still up in the air : )

 **Becky Blue Eyes** – LOL those are the points I personally like in !Rhaegarlives! fics too ;) So your Rhaenys/Robb idea totally made me keep Rhaenys alive. She was initially going to die in this chapter, but I read "the false dragon and the young wolf" on AO3 by lilac-winter (octothropes) since I wanted to see what Robb x Rhaenys looked like, and I loved it!

 **Tor** \- I appreciate your opinion. thanks for giving the story a try!

 **Val-Creative** \- Aww thank you so much! I'm blushing at the praise :$)

* * *

Please review!


	3. Chapter 2b: children without mothers

**HERE COMES** **PART TWO!**

 **(which is literally longer than the other two chapters combined, goodness gracious.)**

* * *

 **TITLE** : Wolves Aflame

 **AUTHOR:** 372259

 **DISCLAIMER:** Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of GRRM. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation and anxiety over whether readers will like it enough to review/hate it enough to flame ;)

 **PICTURE CREDITS:** Photos are from pinned pages on Pinterest, and despite my online stalking, I cannot find the original creators. If someone knows how to do this, please let me know!

 **STORY SO FAR** : Rhaegar Targaryen loses in his one-on-one against Robert at the Battle of the Trident, but Lewyn kills Robert by stabbing him in the back. Rhaegar has his knights bring Lyanna and their newly born son (Jon) to King's Landing, where he crowns Lyanna as the Second Queen and starts dealing out "Rhaegar's reparations" (essentiallypunishing families who didn't support him as well as he feels they could have, or those families who supported the rebels). Lyanna becomes the second queen. Elia dies shortly after the rebellion ends. Lyanna dies giving birth to Rickon. We see a cut out scene where a pair of kiddos (who do you think these boys are ? ;) ) are in lessons with their Maester. We learn that there are some people who believe that Robert should have been King (calling him Robert the Wronged instead of Robert the Rebeller), and that there is already whispers of sedition being seeded around the Kingdom. In Part 1 (Chapter 2) of this chapter, we saw why Rhaegar was so brutal with his reparations, as well as how Cersei and Stannis came to care for each other (with some hints as to what Maggy's new prophecy to Cersei was).

 **A/N : responses** to reviewers are at the bottom. As is an **updated timeline.** Forgive the "kiddy-ness" of the kids' chapters – they're young in these ;) I know the first one from Rhaenys's six-year-old POV may be a bit hard to get through, but have patience LOL. Also, as you will obviously notice below, I have taken creative license with the ages of characters (Jaime, etc.) because, well, it's fanfiction.

 **P.S. If you are a Gendrya fan, check out my other GOT/ASOIAF fic (The Great Games) and be on the lookout for my upcoming one (Gendry thrust back in time, but as a trueborn Arryn).** Also if you follow Supernatural, Bleach, Hunger Games, Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Degrassi, or the Vampire Diaries - check out my other fics :D

 **P.P.S** I definitely would consider this chapter quantity over quality, but honestly, I just REALLY want to get to the main plot in Chapter 3. And the sooner this "fill in the gaps of the past of this AU, convey the new relationships and alliances" arc is done, I can get on with the plot, which will only ever make sense if I preface why certain people are allied and why certain people aren't.

* * *

.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

x

 _"_ _A man should never refuse to taste a peach. He may never get the chance again."_

 _~Renly Baratheon, A Clash of Kings, Chapter Catelyn III_

x

 _"Promise me, Ned... Promise me."_

 _~Lyanna, A Game of Thrones, Chapter Ned I_

x

 _"_ _The best part of him died with her."_

 _~Gerion, A Storm of Swords, Chapter Tyrion V_

x

 _"_ _It should have been you"_

 _~ Catelyn [to Jon], A Game of Thrones_

x

.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

* * *

 **.x.**

 **Wolves Aflame**

 _Chapter 2: children without mothers_

 _(Peaches & Promises & Penance)_

 ** _Part 2_**

 **.x.**

* * *

 **Rhaenys does not hate Lyanna**

 **(despite everyone thinking she should)**

* * *

 _285 AC_

Rhaenys notices things.

For example, she notices that when Lyanna first arrives to the Red Keep, everyone seems grumpier. Well, everyone except for her father.

Then again, people started being unhappy long before the second Queen came.

Back then, her mum was the only queen. Then there was a long time where everyone in the Red Keep was very scared and very quiet. And then there was a long time when her father was gone. That time had been the most terrifying; her mum would barely let her or Balerion (her cat companion and bestest friend) leave her room. Rhaenys was actually okay with her mum's decision, because at that time her King Grandfather was still alive. Rhaenys had very much disliked the old raisin. His breath always smelled awful, his nails were yellowed and almost as long as her fingers, and he never _ever_ smiled. Well, except for once…

 _'_ _Perhaps trial by fire.'_ Rhaenys remembers his hoarse voice croaking, his breath rattling through crooked lips. _'To prove the Dornish girl to be a true Targaryen.'_ That had been the last time she saw the old King before her mum confined her to her rooms.

Her grandfather's frightening words still shake her, only now she is old enough to realize exactly what he had meant. Her history lessons let her know for certain that he had been a horrible man, not just a horrible grandfather.

But there were good people in the time before the second Queen, too. For example, her grandfather's horrible words were from some of the last nights when her grandma lived with her too. Rhaenys had liked her grandma, even though the older woman always flinched when Rhaenys gave her a hug. Grandma Rhaella was pretty, kind, warm, and would always smile at Rhaenys and say: _'Oh sweetling, the coin fell the right way with you.'_

To this day, at six-years-old, Rhaenys still does not know what Grandma Rhaella meant. But coins are shiny, so Rhaenys does not mind having been compared to one.

But Grandma Rhaella went away.

People tell Rhaenys that the kind older woman isn't coming back. Viserys went away with Grandma Rhaella too. People get sad when she asks where he is, then tell her he isn't coming back either. Aunt Ashara went away first. People never answer when Rhaenys asks about her.

No one ever comes back, except her father, who she never sees anymore, so he may as well have never come back at all.

For a while, at least Rhaenys had her mum. (Until she didn't, and sickness took her mum away too.)

Just when it seems like everyone leaves or is taken, Lyanna is the only one who _stays_. The new Queen is the only one who plays with Rhaenys. All the others are too _busy_ running around being " _busy_ ". But Lyanna is nice and cheers her on as Rhaenys climbs peach trees - the ones from Dorne that Viserys had taught her to climb. They were named after her mum and were a gift from her Uncle Doran in the south ( _"Elia's Grove,"_ she had heard courtiers call the biggest group of trees).

Lyanna also helps Rhaenys find Balerion.

Balerion may be her very best friend, but he is also a very bad pet. He always disappears into the underground tunnels below the Keep. Their dark depths scare Rhaenys, so she is always too afraid to chase after her friend alone. Her new Kingsguard knight – Ser Darry – could be coerced into coming with her. But he is always grumpy about it, bemoaning how she should just get a new cat.

 _"_ _One with two whole ears"._

She doesn't like Ser Darry very much after that comment. Rhaenys misses Ser Jaime. _'He was fun,'_ she thinks. _'But now he is just another person who isn't coming back.'_ As revenge for her new knight's insult to Balerion, Rhaenys takes to calling him Ser _Hairy_ in her mind.

 _Lyanna_ never tells Rhaenys to get a new cat. The woman even pets Balerion's head and scratches his tummy.

Rhaenys notices that Lyanna is sad sometimes (a lot of times). But, when Rhaenys gives the second Queen a hug, that seems to make Lyanna feel better, just like her hugs used to do for Grandma Rhaella.

"Why are you sad?" Rhaenys asks Lyanna one day, when a hug doesn't work. Rhaenys's words come out garbled because she says them as she bites into a plump peach. She knows it isn't very polite, but also knows Lyanna is one of the few people who will not reprimand her for it. So, Rhaenys grabs another sweet fruit from her dress pocket, one of the prizes from her most recent climb, and offers it to Lyanna. _'Perhaps a peach will do what a hug cannot?'_

The pretty Queen smiles and takes her proffered share, thanking Rhaenys before responding. "I miss my brothers." The older woman says quietly. They both sit on a stone bench in the courtyard, but with her answer, Lyanna's eyes stray off the peach to look somewhere far away.

Rhaenys works to raise a single brow. (She is proud of her expression. She had practiced it in front of her mirror for an entire day after Ser Hairy gave her the look when she accidentally called him his nickname aloud.)

Rhaenys is very unimpressed by the Queen's explanation. How can Lyanna miss _brothers_? All brothers do is cry and whine and smell like poop. Once Aegon even threw up on Rhaenys's prettiest dress! So she does not understand why Lyanna misses her brothers. _'Maybe they are more interesting than Aegon and Jon?'_

"Why don't you just ask them to come to our castle?" Rhaenys asks.

Lyanna sighs wearily. "They don't want to see me."

Rhaenys gapes, offended on Lyanna's behalf. "But why?! You're fun! And you're the Queen, they can't say no to you if you invite them!"

Lyanna's smile turns into a forced thing, and Rhaenys doesn't like it. "Oh Princess, a Queen should not use her crown to command someone to do something they don't want to do." Lyanna pauses, and her eyes seem to glaze over. "So many things could have been different if everyone in power learned the same lesson." Rhaenys feels like Lyanna is saying something deeper with her words, but can't quite understand what the hidden message is. So, Rhaenys takes their conversation back to something simpler instead.

"Why don't they want to see you? I like you."

Lyanna's eyes go warm before they turn sad again. "I did something wro—" Lyanna shakes her head. "Something _they_ disagreed with, and now they are angry with me."

Rhaenys nods, still not quite understanding. "Why don't you send them a letter then? I'm learning my letters now. That way you can talk to them, even if they won't talk back to you." Rhaenys is quite proud of her answer, she thinks it very smart.

Aegon and Jon can't even read. Or write. They are that boring. _'They can't even talk proper!'_ Rhaenys justifies. _She_ can. Maybe not perfectly but she did have her own opinion at least, and that was more than could be said of her little brothers. All Aegon did was cry since mum went away, and Rhaenys would get in trouble by Septa Eglantine whenever she tried playing with her youngest brother (unless Lyanna was there, no one stopped her from approaching Jon when Lyanna was there). But either way, Jon just slept.

She had one brother who spent the day crying, and another who spent the day sleeping.

 _'_ _Brothers are dull things.'_ Rhaenys eyes latch onto Lyanna's giant stomach. _'Perhaps my next one will be interesting?'_

And Rhaenys knows it will be a boy, regardless of what her father wants. She overheard him, talking with the Maester. Not Maester Pycelle, but the other, newer one she sometimes saw around the keep. The one who had a link made of a pretty rippled metal. "This one needs to be a girl," Her father had said. His words had confused Rhaenys when she overhead them. Because her father already had the best daughter (Lyanna even told her so). But Rhaenys did not just overhear her father want for another daughter once, it was many times.

Rhaenys starts to get a dark, scary feeling in her gut when she hears her father talk about how much he wants another daughter.

"Lyanna?" Rhaenys ventures, a new thought crossing her mind as she sees the Queen distractedly eat her peach with one hand and rub her stomach with the other.

"Yes, Rhaenys?" Lyanna seems to still be half in her head, but turns to face Rhaenys anyways.

"Why did you eat my new brother?"

Lyanna's eyes widen at Rhaeny's somber question, before the older woman is laughing so hard, that bits of peach and spittle fly out of her mouth.

"Oh my," Lyanna says, holding her enlarged stomach and trying to catch her breath. "Oh, you are a _delight_!"

Rhaenys huffs. Lyanna still didn't answer her question, which is a very legitimate question as far as Rhaenys is concerned. _'Why eat a baby if you have to throw it up later?'_ But Lyanna is smiling now, so Rhaenys supposes she'll just ask again later. _'Perhaps Ser Hairy knows the answer?'_ For now, Rhaenys continues to munch on her peach, reveling in its sweet taste and slippery juices, as she spends the afternoon sitting side by side with the only person she has left.

* * *

 **The next time Rhaenys sees Lyanna, it is the last**

* * *

"Sweet Rhaenys, come here," requests a fevered Lyanna from her sweat-drenched bed. Rhaenys approaches the ailing woman cautiously. Lyanna looks even sicklier than her mum did before she went away.

"Tell me sweetling, what did you do today?" Lyanna asks, her voice quiet and throaty.

And so Rhaenys tells her. She tells Lyanna how she spent her day first at lessons ("I'm learning the harp now!"), then trying to teach Balerion some tricks ("But he wouldn't do any because Ser Hairy was there, and Ser Hairy scares Balerion, but he wouldn't leave no matter how much I pushed him, so Balerion didn't do any tricks at all, and then Ser Hairy said I should get a dog! A _dog,_ can you believe it?"), and then climbing peach trees to grab the plumpest and ripest ones.

"I brought you some!" Announces Rhaenys, smiling brightly. "And one for my new baby brother too!"

Lyanna's eyes go glassy, her mouth curved into a fragile smile. "I will miss you."

Rhaenys feels her stomach drop. Her chest feels empty when she asks, "you're leaving me too, aren't you?"

Lyanna nods weakly, eyes now truly watering. "I do not wish to."

The younger girl slowly nods back. Rhaenys is growing quite used to people leaving her.

Lyanna coughs so hard that her forehead cooler falls off, and Rhaenys reaches out quickly to carefully put the wet cloth back on Lyanna's forehead. It feels much too warm to be a cooling cloth.

"Will you look after him? Please. I know it will be a boy - and your father wants a girl." Lyanna's words grow faster, her eyes growing even more watery, and Rhaenys knows this is what the Maesters mean when they whisper _'fever speech'._ "Please look out for him, Rhaenys."

 _'_ _Lyanna is dying,'_ Rhaenys realizes. _'The Stranger is coming to take her away, and when he does, I will have no one left.'_ She looks to Lyanna's covered stomach. _'He will have no one too… No. No, we can still have each other. We_ will _have each other, even if we have no one else.'_ Rhaenys speaks through her own budding tears. "I will protect him. I will be his very own knight, guard him like the way Ser Hairy protects me."

Lyanna sighs with a sad smile. "Oh, sweetling, he will need your love more than your sword." Rhaenys is confused, of course she will love him. Aegon and Jon are boring, but still she loves them.

"Promise me, Rhaenys. Promise me."

Rhaenys holds Lyanna's limp hand with both of her smaller ones. She looks first at the hump under the blanket, where her brother still is (even though the Maester said he was supposed to be out weeks ago). "I promise." Rhaenys vows. "I promise." She says again, stronger.

Lyanna seems soothed by this, and her eyes starts to close. Rhaenys grows even more worried then, afraid that if Lyanna closes her eyes, she will not open them again.

"What is his name?" Rhaenys demands, pulling sharply on Lyanna's hand, pulling her away from the Stranger's eager embrace. "You must tell me the name of my brother."

"Rick-on." Lyanna breathes out with half-lidded eyes. "Half my father, and half Brandon. Rickon will be his name."

Lyanna's eyes are glazed, but she is still awake, still fighting for consciousness.

 _'_ _Fight!'_ Rhaenys screams in her mind. _'Fight!'_

But even Rhaenys can tell this is a battle Lyanna will not win. And then Rhaenys starts to panic. She does not want to lose anyone else. She refuses to. She can help keep Lyanna from the Stranger, the way she couldn't save her mother. "But you will be okay." Rhaenys says, voice thick. "I _command_ you to be okay. So we both can be his protectors! All three of us can go searching for Balerion, and you can watch us climb peach trees, and I can even teach him the harp if he wants!"

Lyanna looks at her with tears melting into her sweat-drenched face. "Oh my sweet girl, you were a gift. Sometimes you were the only light in this dark place. You will be that for him. I think you will be the light all these Kingdoms needs–"

The door to the chambers is slammed open, interrupting the Queen. Rhaenys nearly snarls at the intrusion. She turns to see Maester Pycelle swaggering in, all pomp and circumstance, telling Rhaenys she must leave. Rhaenys doesn't want to, but Lyanna gives her a soft nod. Rhaenys feels her throat tighten when she hugs Lyanna, and yelps when she is pulled away by the Maester sooner than she'd like. The stupid Maester directs her heavy feet towards the door. Desperate, Rhaenys looks over her shoulder just once more to see Lyanna attempt a smile.

 _'_ _Goodbye.'_ Rhaenys wants to say, but then the door is shut.

Rhaenys stands in the hallway, facing the hardwood paneling of the door, until she senses another presence. She turns and finds Ser Hairy waiting for her on the opposite side of the hall. He offers her a handkerchief, but Rhaenys just throws her arms around his thick leg instead.

She doesn't know how long she stands there, her shoulders shaking and her grip tightening on the man's thigh. But eventually she hears her father talking with a Maester, the new Maester with the rippled chain. Her father's voice grows in volume with every word he hisses out, yet the Maester's tone remains calm and clear as the duo come closer to the Healing Chambers.

"…choose child or mother, your Grace. I cannot save both."

"You've yet to tell me whether it will be a girl or a boy!"

"We cannot be certain until they arrive. The babe is high set, which can mean a girl, but not always."

"Save my wife." Rhaegar says. There is an uneasy pause. "…Unless you suspect it to be a girl."

Rhaenys refuses to hear anymore. _Cannot_ hear anymore. She does not think she will ever forgive her father for such callous words.

 _'_ _You have me. You have Lyanna. But you would push us both to the Stranger for another precious daughter, wouldn't you? Why am I not enough?!'_

(The dark thing in her stomach grows, begins to claw up her throat, scratching it with violent claws and nearly bubbling out from her lips.)

"Take me to Balerion please." Rhaenys mumbles instead, speaking against her knight's thigh, then clinging to him even harder as she hears Lyanna start to scream.

(Lyanna's piercing wails will haunt Rhaenys for the rest of her life, she knows. She will never be able to remember the woman's laughter without the sound of her wails poisoning the memory.)

"Aye, we'll find the one-eared beast." Her Kingsguard says quietly, gently guiding Rhaenys away from a raging Rhaegar and a dying Lyanna.

* * *

 **Lyanna had never meant for her family to break**

 **(but it happened, anyway)**

* * *

Lyanna had not wanted a crown

She had wanted Rhaegar.

She did not want Robert. She did not want to marry a man who loved the idea of having her, yet would dishonor her at every turn. A drunkard and a whoremonger, who already had a bastard. Lyanna could not believe the fate her family had sold her to.

Lyanna is well aware that _"The Mummer Queen,"_ is just one of the… affectionate… monikers the people call her. They don't remember Robert as a drunkard and a whoremonger. They look upon him through a rosy lens, they sing of him as _"Robert the Wronged"_ ; an innocent man who died for loving his betrothed. And her? They think of her as nothing more than a whore who had led her family and thousands of others their deaths by reneging on her duty, by letting the Kingdom think she had been taken against her will. How was she supposed to know that was what her family would think? That they would raise their armies? That Aerys would kill those she loved?

She didn't want Robert. But she had not wanted father or Brandon to die either.

 _'_ _Perhaps you'll be like them,'_ she thinks, rubbing her stomach _. 'With father's steady presence and quick wit, or perhaps with Brandon's easy laugh and reckless wonder.'_ Tears come to her eyes unbidden, and she does not stop them from streaming down her face.

Perhaps this is her punishment. _"The Duty-Dodger Queen"_ , according to the whispers of the Kingdoms. And the Old Gods do not forgive those who forgo their duty. _'I left my brothers, and now I am being taken from my sons.'_

The Maester had already told both her and Rhaegar that she was not likely to survive, and Rhaegar had been inconsolable. Raging and grieving, looking at the child in her stomach as if he wanted nothing more than to tear it out of her, if only that would save her.

 _'_ _I'm so sorry,'_ she thinks, _'Jon, Rickon. I would not leave you if I had the choice. I promise, I would not leave you.'_ She feels so guilty when she remembers the other child she has come to love. _'Rhaenys, sweet Rhaenys, who must watch on as yet another person who she trusts leaves her.'_

( _"Everyone leaves me. You are the only one left."_ Whispered a five-year-old Rhaenys, clinging to Lyanna's skirts the day after Elia's burial.)

This time before Lyanna leaves, she writes letters.

It had been Rhaenys who had inspired her to write them. Lyanna had the letters she wrote to her brothers sent North already, and had given the ones for each of the children to an emotional Rhaegar.

"Protect my children." She tells him, voice as firm as she can make it. She knows he will look out for Jon, their first child, the one born at a time when they had just won the right to be with each other. But she worries how Rhaegar will treat Rickon. She can see the thick resentment as Rhaegar only stares darkly at her stomach in response. "Please, my love. Do not blame him for this."

Rhaegar merely storms out of the room, saying something about talking with the Maesters.

Lyanna thanks every god that exists when Rhaenys comes to her rooms a short while after.

* * *

 **Rhaegar looks at a newborn Rickon, and sees only a leech that sucked away his happiness**

* * *

Rhaegar regrets ordering Shireen Baratheon's branding the moment the command leaves his lips. Lyanna would have never wanted such a vile act to commemorate her passing. And yet, Rhaegar does not rescind his directions, even as the child's cries grow louder and louder.

(In a dark part of his mind, he sees Rickon instead of Shireen meeting the blade.)

It is the memory of Lyanna – and Elia's words – that make him send for a Maester to at least attempt to minimize the disfigurement of the girl's face. There is a part of him that knows Tywin Lannister will not forgive this, but a larger part of him that doesn't care at all.

Lyanna is dead. _Dead_ , because he chased a prophecy that was supposed to save the Realm. Because he chose his heart over his duty, and she did the same. But they didn't save the Realm, and they didn't live happily ever after. They started a war that ravaged the Seven Kingdoms, and left him with three children that remind him of all he lost.

And a newborn babe that killed the person he loved most in the world.

 _'_ _Murderer. Nothing more than a pestilence that sucked the life out of the woman I loved more than anything. She did not deserve to die… It should have been you.'_

* * *

 **Lewyn faced an impossible choice: duty or honour**

* * *

 _290 AC_

The years after Robert's Rebellion were dark and difficult. Rhaegar did the crown no favours with those ridiculous reparations he ordered. The taking of Jon Arryn's head, the branding of the Baratheons; it was all to assert the image of control, Lewyn supposed. And there is control now, years after, stability even. But, it is hardly built on an amicable foundation.

No, it is like trying to temper a fire with a wet wooden cage. At first the water keeps the flames at bay, until the fires chase the soak into the sky. And then all that remains is a hungry flame and a pending inferno.

Lewyn wonders as he wanders through Elia's Grove, watching Princess Elia try to teach young Prince Rickon how to climb.

Princess _Rhaenys_ , he corrects his thoughts, shaking his head. Rhaenys even at eleven years old is the image of her mother, without Elia's unfortunate frailty. In truth it is almost a scene from his past. It is easy to picture Elia and Oberyn in lieu of Rhaenys and Rickon, by their interactions if not the similarity of their looks. Rhaenys and Rickon are, in truth, the least like their father. One could argue they had no Targaryen features at all, Rhaenys a pure Martell and Rickon a pure Stark in their colouring and features. Even young Jon had a hint of his father's eye colour and the Targaryen pale skin. And wasn't that the most interesting part, the unexpected way that Rhaegar's children paired off…

He hears a squeal of joy from the younger boy – _'How old is he now, six?'_ – and looks towards the idyllic scene. He watches them from afar, reminiscing over the innocent times he had with his own family.

Things had been dark, yes, after the war. But they are slowly getting better with time. _'Or at least superficially so.'_ Lewyn muses, as he sees some passing courtiers whisper and look at him, the very opposite of subtlety.

Lewyn still thinks of the war, of the Battle of the Trident, more than he supposes is healthy. He had a choice that day: his duty as a Kingsguard, or his honour as a warrior.

Rhaegar and Robert had been engaged in a one-on-one match, no archer nor other knight from either side dared to intervene. They could not. It was clear that this was a duel – _the duel_ – that would end the Rebellion. Lewyn had not planned on intervening, not just because of some unspoken code amongst the fighters, but because he had faith that the Gods would see to Rhaegar's victory. In Lewyn's distraction, he himself had nearly been slain by the arrogant fool Lyn Corbray. At the time, Lewyn had just barely avoided the man's wild swing at his neck.

After Corbray was slain, swiftly, Lewyn looked back to see Rhaegar on his knees. And in that moment, Lewyn knew his choice. It had been a fair fight, yes, but Rhaegar was the Crowned Prince, while Robert Baratheon was nothing more than a rebel. And so, breaching the conduct that every man on that field had silently agreed to, Lewyn rapidly approached the duo and plunged his sword into Baratheon's back.

 _"_ _Dishonourable."_ He knew that, to this day, the survivors from the battle, and those who had heard their stories, all hissed the same insults. They think him dishonourable for killing the victor of a fair fight. They don't say it to his face, just keep feeding whispers. He supposes there must be a few who are neutral to the entire affair. But there are even fewer who are vocal about their support of his decision, even amongst his sworn brothers. Well, except one.

Surprisingly it had been young Jaime Lannister who had reached out to Lewyn first. Before the young knight left sans-Cloak for the West to his Tully wife, the fledgling Lion had approached his senior with a dulled swagger.

 _"_ _So many vows...they make you swear and swear. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other."_

The boy prodigy's words had felt like a dagger in Lewyn's gut, so accurate they had been. Jaime's words were non-judgmental, understanding even, as though he had faced a similar battle. His reassurance seemed to be set on repeat in Lewyn's mind to this very day, and often are accompanied by Lewyn reliving the boy's knighting.

 _( "Jaime of House Lannister." Announces Ser Arthur as he touches the young blond's right shoulder with his sword, everyone at the tournament enthralled. "In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you protect all women." With each sentence, Ser Arthur's sword is placed on the other shoulder of the boy being knighted. "Look up towards me, and tell me true. Do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children, to obey your captains, your liege lord, and your King? Do you swear to fight bravely when needed and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"_

 _"_ _Yes." Jaime answers solemnly, though anyone close enough – like Ser Lewyn is – can see the boy is vibrating in excitement._

 _Arthur grins at the eager youth, who had proven so adept with a sword during their hunt for the Brotherhood. "Then rise, Ser Jaime, Great Lion of the West, youngest knight of the century!"_

 _And Jaime Lannister – only 11 years old – is beaming as he rises to a thunderous applause. Even Lord Tywin seems a bit less stern to those who are familiar enough with the Hand's expressions. The corner of Tywin's mouth remains slightly upturned, until King Aerys halts the festivities by announcing that such a skilled prodigy should be brought into the folds of the Kingsguard._

 _The applause from the nobles dies quickly._

 _Lord Tywin leaves Kings Landing that very afternoon, leaving an heir and a Hand's pin behind._ )

It is a haunting thing for Lewyn when he remembers Jaime during the blond boy's first year donning a white cloak. He mirrored his golden armor: bright and eager to learn everything, laughing loudly in the training yards as he chased after his seniors to teach him more.

Jaime seemed happy enough in King's Landing until he began watching over Queen Rhaella in the evenings.

Jaime's laughter dimmed quickly after that. And when Aerys started burning bodies? Lewyn doesn't think Jaime ever even _smiled_ after that. Fake ones, yes. But not the true ones of a boy who thought the world a place of good.

 _'_ _King's Landing broke that boy… perhaps I helped it.'_

Lewyn frowns, another memory materializing unbidden before his eyes.

( _"We are sworn to protect her as well!" hisses a young Jaime, clearly distressed as three of the Kingsguard stand outside the royal chambers. It is the boy's first night guarding the Queen._

 _"_ _We are… but not from him." says Ser Darry. The older man does not waiver in his post beside the closed door._

 _Jaime looks to Lewyn then, despairing over the other knight's ambivalent response._

 _Lewyn doesn't say anything to contradict Jon, and just leans his head back against the cold stone lining the walls of the halls. In truth, it was refreshing to feel the chill when one was trying to numb their other senses._

 _"_ _Knights are sworn to protect women; we are sworn to protect the Queen!" Jaime cries._

 _"_ _Your duty is to the King first, Jaime." Lewyn finally says._

 _Jaime looks horrified, gaze flailing between both of the senior White Cloaks, before another high-pitched shriek from the Queen makes the young boy's golden complexion turn pale as a ghost._

 _Lewyn merely watches on as Jaime spends the night with glassy eyes, glaring harshly at the floor, the boy's shoulder's shaking every time Aerys' manic laughter echoes through the hall.)_

Elia's – _Rhaenys's_ – tinkling laugh thankfully pulls him out of his dark reverie.

The Princess is chasing Lyanna's son about the trees, the Prince shrieking in delight every time Rhaenys catches him. Lewyn smiles at the duo fondly. It is easy to favour Rhaenys and Rickon. They are happy children, who spend every second of every day chasing each other around the Keep and chatting with nobles and servants alike. They can be rambunctious at times, but they are good-hearted children.

Aegon and Jon are not.

Lewyn feels a dark ice chill up his spine, thinking on his great-nephew (his charge) and Lyanna's first son. Aegon treats Jon as a minion of sorts, and the second Prince follows Aegon around as faithfully as a shadow. Lewyn has never known winter, but he imagines its biting winds are as cold as Aegon's icy glares towards the youngest Prince.

 _'_ _And what a blade in the back it must be for Rickon,'_ Lewyn thinks morosely. _'To have Jon always choose Aegon, instead of protecting his younger brother against Aegon's loathing.'_

Rhaegar does nothing to reprimand Aegon and Jon's unrelenting bullying of Rickon. In fact, Rhaegar has not even assigned the youngest boy an official Kingsguard member. The remaining White Cloaks, of course, keep an eye on the roaming royal boy when they can, but always at a distance.

 _'_ _Rhaenys is the only true shield Rickon has.'_

This in itself only seems to increase the tension between Rhaenys and Aegon, the former clearly trying to serve as an intermediary and the latter jealous over his only full-blooded sibling's overt preference for the youngest.

This embitters Lewyn, who cannot help but wonder sometimes if it had been worth his honor to save a King that dishonored Lewyn's own niece, branded others' children, and neglected his own. Rhaegar had been vengeful after the war, but Lyanna's death had left the man desolate. Rhaegar had been a good man, once. A man - a _friend_ \- who Lewyn thought would be the King this Realm needed to prosper. But that man was gone.

The best part of Rhaegar died with Lyanna Stark.

* * *

 **Rickon is not born hating his brothers, h** **e learns to**

* * *

 _292 AC_

Rickon idolizes Rhae.

She is his most precious person, her and Balerion. He spends all of his days with them, only leaving Rhae's side when he absolutely has to (is forced to) part from her. He is still quite proud of the magnificent fit he had thrown when that dreadful bore Septa Eglantine started forcing Rickon to attend lessons with his brothers instead of letting him continue to sit in for Rhae's. He calmed only because his sister had been quick to promise that she would be with him after their lessons, and his wailing four-year-old self had been somewhat appeased.

Yet as they grow older, Rhae is being pulled away from him more and more. Supposedly for her _"Lady Lessons"_ per wrinkly sour Eglantine, and for _"entertaining"_ visiting noblewomen and noblewomen.

Rickon _hated_ sharing Rhae. Rhae is his closest friend, and his only family member who actually spends time with him.

Aegon is… scary. His older half-brother glares at Rickon whenever they near each other, and shoves him to the ground when no one can see them. Jon ignores Rickon whenever he tries to seek the dark-haired boy out, which hurts even more, because Rickon knows that he and Jon are full brothers. And shouldn't that mean something?

 _'_ _No, blood doesn't matter.'_ Thinks Rickon fiercely, shaking his head firmly. _'Rhae is only half my sister by blood, but she is my truest family of them all.'_

Rhae is gone today, _again_. Not just for a few hours, but for _four whole days_. She was forced away by that ugly raisin Eglantine, in order to visit Baelor's Sept for some sort of special _"Faith Training"_ , or some such foolishness.

 _'_ _I am alone.'_ Thinks Rickon gloomily, as his eyes slowly trace one of the stone-laid hallways of the Keep.

Then, a black bundle of fur shoves at his leg, clearly affronted at Rickon's thoughts.

 _'_ _Not quite alone.'_ Rickon corrects himself, as his lips curve into a smile and he leans down to pat Balerion on the head. Rhae left the dark feline with Rickon, as she often does when Eglantine forces her to leave the Keep. The young Prince is about to ask his fuzzy companion to accompany him on another secret escapade to Flea Bottom (the only thing in the entire Realm he keeps from Rhae, because she worries too much), when he hears his eldest brother's voice nearby.

Rickon's fingers pull too tightly on Balerion's scraggly hair, and the cat screeches in response. When Rickon turns to pinpoint the familiar voice at the end of the hall, he sees the dark hair of Jon first, who is trailing beside Aegon. Aegon is smirking, strutting down the length of the corridor, and whipping about a dagger. A dagger with _bells._

Aegon sees Rickon, and smirks. "Are you jealous, bastard? I've got a new blade. My Uncle, Prince Oberyn, had it made especially for me."

Rickon hated it when Aegon called him that ugly name. At first he didn't know what it meant, just that Aegon only used it when no one else was listening, so it must have been a bad thing. When he asked Rhae one day what the word meant, he was even more confused. He didn't understand why he was a bastard, but Aegon thought Jon wasn't.

Rickon tries, really truly tries, to hold his tongue. Rhae always tells him to do that when he gets angry. He even tries counting to ten in his head, like she always says to do. But Aegon just keeps talking. "Bet you're jealous of a lot of things. Like how father loves me, and wishes you had stayed a stain on a brothel's sheet."

Rickon bristles, not entirely sure what Aegon means, but knowing it's something insulting by his tone. "Why would I be jealous? It's _dumb_ to have bells on a dagger!" Rickon shouts. "Your enemies would hear you from leagues away!"

Jon sighs, shaking his head. "Gods, you're so stupid, Rickon." A cross between exasperation and annoyance (and perhaps a hint of trepidation), flashes in Jon's greyish purple eyes.

Aegon's smirk turns into a scowl. "Stupid is right." Aegon snorts. "The dagger has bells because it's for _training_. It teaches a knight how to be stealthy, by walking in a way where the bells don't ring."

"You have too loud a mouth to be stealthy." Rickon mumbles back, looking down but not fast enough to not see Jon roll his eyes.

There is a pause and then a long silence before Rickon hazards looking back up to his eldest brother.

Aegon's scowl… has turned back into an odd smile. He speaks, low and languid.

"Rhaenys is gone for the next few days, isn't she?"

Rickon gets a peculiar sensation, a feeling that bugs crawl on his skin, their little feet digging into his flesh.

Aegon breaks the second silence when he firmly clasps a hand onto Rickon's shoulder. At the heavy touch, Rickon's gut jolts and Balerion hisses in displeasure. Rickon's feet are kept in place only by the weight of Aegon's grasp. "You must be lonely," Aegon says, voice softer than before. "You could join Jon and I for the day; we were just on our way to the training yards."

Rickon's heart races in excitement.

"Really?" He exclaims, grinning widely. "I can play with you?"

Aegon's smile broadens, and the bugs move faster, scratching at Rickon's skin. "Of course. I have so much I can teach you."

Rickon turns to face Jon, wondering if Jon will let him come too. But Jon doesn't face Rickon, and instead focuses on Balerion, frowning at the cat's bitten ear. Then he quietly mumbles, "truly a wonder such a deaf thing still breathes."

Rickon doesn't understand, but Jon often says strange things, and speaks as though he is an old man instead of just two years older, so Rickon decides to take Jon's lack of refusal as acceptance.

"Will you teach me how to fight?" Rickon asks enthusiastically as he walks next to Aegon, eager to be near his eldest brother now that the flaxen-haired boy is no longer glaring at him.

Aegon nods, as his grip on Rickon's shoulder turns the younger boy in the direction opposite from the way towards Rickon's secret tunnel to Flea Bottom. Balerion tries to come along as well, but Jon pushes the cat in the other direction. Rickon wants to oppose this, but is too scared of messing up the first chance he can remember of being able to play with his brothers.

 _'_ _I'm sorry Balerion. I'll find you later, I promise.'_

The trio approach the training yard, and Aegon speaks once more. "You aren't allowed here yet, are you?"

Rickon looks immediately to the ground, disappointed and afraid Aegon will send him away. Instead, Aegon says, "we can find somewhere a little further away from the other Knights, I'm sure."

Aegon turns to the two Kingsguard following a respectable distance behind the trio. _'Weird,'_ thinks Rickon, as Ser Oswell Whent and Ser Arys Oakheart are ordered by Aegon to take a break. _'It's usually Ser Lewyn and Ser Selmy who follow Aegon and Jon around.'_ The armored duo seems hesitant, and both knights eye Rickon with a look the younger boy can't really interpret. Aegon's voice hardens and he points to the busy training yard, saying something about having sufficient guards. When the two knights begrudgingly let themselves be sent away, Aegon faces Rickon once more. He whispers conspiratorially. "Since you aren't allowed in the main training yard yet, we can find somewhere a little further away from the other knights. A place to teach you something useful." He ponders for a moment before nodding. "I know just where we can go."

Aegon leads Rickon and Jon to a secluded area behind some trees. Amidst the foliage, there are multiple sets of arrows and targets, and no other occupants.

"Let us start with the basics, hmm?" Says Aegon.

Rickon nods zealously. He has never been allowed near the bows and arrows before, and had only ever used the wooden play swords. Rickon looks on in awe as Aegon fluently picks up a bow, draws back an arrow, and launches it. The arrow hits the third ring of one of the further targets and Rickon claps, amazed.

 _'_ _It is so far away, but Aegon hit it!'_

Aegon smirks, before stepping closer to Rickon and displaying the bow, teaching him the different parts, using fancy words like armguard, bowstring, button, bowyer, crown, crest, quiver, quarrel, riser, and shaft. Rickon soaks up every word that Aegon speaks, memorizing them as best as he can.

 _'_ _This is what it is like.'_ Thinks Rickon, grinning as he looks upon his eldest brother, who is righting the way Rickon holds his bow. _'For Aegon to like me. He can be kind too, just like Rhae.'_

Off to the side, Jon shoots his own arrows, but isn't as good as Aegon. Which is surprising, because Rickon remembers seeing Jon shoot once while he was walking with Rhae, and from what he recalls Jon had actually been quite good. But, there is no time to follow that thought, as Aegon nudges Rickon's elbow and drawls, "stop aiming and shoot already."

Rickon's first shot is nowhere near the target, and his cheeks puff up in embarrassment. He expects some sort of jeering from Aegon, but instead hears:

"Rickon, could you grab the used arrows? We're running low."

"Okay!" yelps Rickon, desperate to keep Aegon's newfound favour despite his own abysmal skills.

Rickon runs over to the fallen arrows as quickly as he can, bending over to pick them up. When he finishes with the ones on the ground, he uses his left hand to try to pull the ones wedged into the closest target.

It goes well, and the last lodged arrow is almost removed, before Rickon feels a searing pain in his upper arm.

 _'_ _An arrow,'_ Rickon registers before the overwhelming pain causes him to wail. Rickon looks forward to see a bloody arrow embedded in the target, next to the one he almost removed. The new arrow had cut Rickon's arm, but could have easily embedded itself in his head or back instead.

Aegon and Jon come running over.

Rickon looks up to see them, and is horrified by Aegon's smirk. "First lesson, Rickon. When fighting a stronger opponent… know how to _dodge_."

And then Aegon laughs.

He hears the heavy footfall and clanking metal of incoming knights, and then Jon's voice.

"Would you stop your screeching?" demands Jon. "It was just an accident Rickon. Don't make such a scene."

Rickon isn't sure why he expects Jon to help him, Jon never does. And yet, some part of his chest goes cold when he hears Jon relay a modified story to the approaching knights.

 _("Accident… Silly boy… Ran into Aegon's arrow… Accident… You know how incorrigible he is. How he doesn't listen to instruction… Accident… And really, if Rickon just learned to do as he's told, he wouldn't have gotten himself hurt…")_

.x.

"Lucky for you, young Prince, that the arrow missed your tendons and the bulk of your muscle. It could have been much worse. Why, you could have been deformed and crippled for life!" Grand Maester Pycelle tuts, "what a terrible accident!"

After hearing Jon's account, the knights had taken a sobbing Rickon to the Maester's quarters, and delivered Rickon to Pycelle. Jon had been left to watch over him as the Grand Maester wrapped the young Prince's wound.

Rickon screams back at the man. "It wasn't an accident! Aegon hit me on purpose because I made fun of his stupid dagger!"

Jon, who is standing by the door, gives a large and exaggerated sigh. "Stop lying, Rickon. I saw what happened, and it was an accident, your fault if anything. You shouldn't have stepped in front of the tree; you shouldn't have made yourself a target."

Rickon looks at Jon, numb now, after realizing exactly how little his full brother cares for him. And Rickon is _desperate_ for someone to care. Because Aegon could have hit his _head_ instead, killing him. Aegon could have hit is _back,_ crippling him for life. It is that same desperation that powers his steps towards the King's solar. As Rickon approaches the heavy doors, he notes that it is Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Lewyn Martell who are guarding the entrance.

Ser Lewyn sees the fresh bandages around Rickon's arm, and his dark eyes widen. "Price Rickon, what happened?!"

Rickon scowls, hissing out his response. "Aegon."

Ser Lewyn and Ser Arthur share a look Rickon can't decipher. Rickon's scowl deepens. "But I bet you both don't believe me. No one ever does." _'No one but Rhae, and she is gone for three more days.'_

"Just let me in to see my father, please. I need to tell him what happened."

Lewyn's eyes widen further. The Dornish Kingsguard begins his response cautiously. "Prince Rickon, that might not be the wisest choice—"

 _'_ _That's it!'_ Rickon seethes, fed up. "I don't care! He never talks to me or looks at me, but even he should care if Aegon could have _killed_ me! _I'm his son too_!"

Ser Arthur sighs, looking at Rickon with something too close to pity. Rickon glowers at the two Kingsguard before turning his glare downwards, once more meeting the intricate stone floors. "Just let me in. _Please._ "

.x.

Ser Arthur knocks on the large doors and announces in a steady, deep voice, "Prince Rickon, your Grace."

There is silence on the other side.

Ser Arthur knocks again. "Your Grace, your son—"

Rhaegar's voice reeks of annoyance as it seeps through the door. "Let him in, then."

Rickon loses whatever courage he had the moment he hears his father's callous voice. He stays standing in the hall, scared to move, before Ser Lewyn puts a warm hand on his shoulder and gently guides him through the door that Ser Arthur opens.

Rickon hears the heavy door slam, Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn remaining on the other side, and all he feels is regret. _'I should not have done his. I wish I had not done this.'_

His father sits, an imposing figure, writing and signing documents behind his desk. His hand seems just a bit unsteady, and then Rickon remembers his father lost not just his sword arm but also his writing hand in the Rebellion. _'It must have been hard, learning to write again.'_ Rickon continues to sink into his thoughts, as the King has yet to look up from his papers. Rickon just continues to wait, only a step away from the closed door. The time ticks by, and still his father refuses to acknowledge him.

 _'_ _Father ignores me, Jon avoids me, and Aegon gets to_ hurt _me. It isn't fair._ ' Rickon is just about to open his mouth when his father _finally_ deigns to speak.

" _What_." The King demands, though his eyes don't leave the parchment he is writing on.

Rickon – upon hearing the frosty voice – is scared silent, again.

"Speak." The King orders coldly. "Or leave my sight."

 _'_ _Be brave'_ whispers a kind voice that sounds like Rhae. And Rickon listens to her. He tells his father exactly what happened in the area by the training yard, and with the dagger before that. He is shaky with the explanation, but a recount of the entire affair eventually makes its way out despite Rickon's stammering.

His father still doesn't look up from signing his papers. Does not react to Rickon's retelling, even when he mentions the arrow that Aegon cast into his arm.

 _'_ _You must care about this.'_ Thinks Rickon, desperately. _'You must care that Aegon hurt me; you must at least care that Aegon could have killed me.'_

His father's eyes are hard when they finally look up at Rickon.

"You would waste a King's time with this nonsense? _Get out._ "

.x.

When Rhae returns to see Rickon's wounded arm, she screams at Aegon and Jon - berating them for their horrible actions. She chastises them both so loudly that at least half the castle hears and so harshly that neither of the duo can face her for over a week.

And then she introduces Rickon to Sam.

"This is Lord Samwell Tarly." Announces Rhae, as the three of them meet in the Maester's library. "He is Grand Maester Pycelle's student. Essentially a Maester-in-training from the Citadel, doing part of his education here for the next few years. You will be having your lessons with him from now on, not with Maester Tarot and the other Princes."

 _'Lord Samwell Tarly is a very chubby thing,'_ thinks Rickon as he appraises the rotund Lord from the Reach. _'Shy and unsure of himself, but his smile seems kind.'_ Regardless, Rickon would do near anything to escape from being trapped in a room with his brothers and the creepy Maester with the rippling chain. So, Rickon doesn't bother indulging any doubts, and happily chirps, "Hello, Lord Tarly." Then he bows properly, the way Rhae taught him to do it, with a straight back and straightened legs.

Lord Samwell seems embarrassed by the formal address. He bumbles out, "S-Sam will do just fine, Your Grace."

Rickon feels a smile grow between his cheeks. He thinks he will like Sam much more than he would Lord Samwell. "Then Rickon will do just fine as well, Sam."

.x.

Next, Rhae pulls a shy Rickon before Ser Arthur Dayne.

"You shall teach Rickon all he needs to know about how to be a knight. You will train him every day."

Ser Arthur seems discomfited as he stares at them both with a sad gaze. "Princess, your intentions are good. But Prince Rickon is not yet even seven years old."

"The master-at-arms started Jon and Aegon even earlier than his age." In that moment, Rhae's entire countenance morphs. "Ser Arthur, you _will_ train Rickon. I expect to be kept informed of his progress, weekly."

Rickon stares at this new side of Rhae in awe. There is no gentleness to her commands, just power.

Rhaenys sounds like a _King_.

"I am the Princess, and in the absence of the Queens, I am the Lady of this Keep. Ser Arthur, you will obey my instructions as such."

And so, because of Rhae, Rickon finds himself living out every boy's dream: being trained by the legendary Sword of the Morning.

* * *

 **How can a father not love their son?**

* * *

 _294 AC_

Sam knows things could have gone very differently. That if his father had his way, Sam would be at the Wall, freezing amongst rapists and thieves. It had been an offhand comment by Dickon that had spurred Sam to head to the Citadel instead of the North. (' _Oh! That makes much more sense. Thank you, Sam. I don't get why_ you _don't just teach me numbers instead, you're much better than our Maester at it!'_ )

And like the Wall, once the Citadel had Sam, there was no way for Lord Randyl Tarly to grab a hold of him. Despite the man thinking learning a "womanly" interest. The Citadel was considered an independent city-state, despite straddling the border between the Riverlands and the Reach. It often gathered visitors to the public domains of its library, the largest library in all of Westeros.

Sam's thoughts are interrupted by a slamming door.

Not jolted – far too used to this occurrence to be startled anymore – Sam calmly turns to see a fuming Prince.

Prince Rickon Targaryen, at 9-years-old, has become something of a friend to Sam over the past two and a half years. And part of it, Sam suspects, is because Rickon has so few people in the Red Keep to rant to about the actions of the other males in the royal family.

Rickon paces along the Maester's Library, hands alternating between fisting at his sides and pulling at his dark brown curls. Sam just watches on as Rickon silently seethes, letting the younger boy gather his thoughts. By his attire and slightly dulled blade, Sam has no doubt the Prince had initially tried to let his anger out at the training yard ( _'Or perhaps against a tree, his sword is quite blunted compared to yesterday.'_ )

Finally, Rickon huffs out a sigh before planting himself on one of the benches. He leans back, face towards the ceiling and eyes closed, as he speaks. "I shouldn't be surprised. When the King bothers to favour anyone, the King favours Aegon. And if not Aegon, then Jon."

Sam wants to ask what happened, his curiosity as much as vice as it is a virtue, but Sam holds his tongue. Rickon is clearly still sorting through his emotions in his head, and Sam has learned to let him do so.

The Prince's next words are so quiet that Sam has to strain to hear them. "He hates me. He never even calls me his son; did you know that? How can a father not..." Rickon's words drift off, but Sam hears what Rickon doesn't say. How can Sam not understand the unspoken thought, when he himself has had the question for years.

 _'_ _How can a father not love their son?'_

Sam knows then, what Rickon needs to hear.

"I had a father who preferred my brother over me as well." Sam begins. The next words are hard to say, Sam has never said what happened aloud before, but he pushes the story out anyways. "I suppose this is a secret, since I have never told anyone and would really like for no one else to know." Sam sees that Rickon's eyes flare in a bright curiosity of his own. "I never intended to leave Horn Hill. But my father is Lord Randyll Tarly, a man who values martial valor and strength in combat over anything else. So three years ago when I turned 15, and still had none of either of those things, he took me aside. Brought me to the nearest forest, just him and I, and ordered me to take the black and join the Night's Watch. He wanted my younger brother, Dickon, to inherit our lands and his title." Sam sees Rickon frown, and the Prince looks as if he wants to interject and say something, but Sam makes a settling motion with his hands. _'That's not all,'_ thinks Sam, as he relives the worst moment of his life. "Then he told me if I wasn't gone within a moon's turn, he would take me on a hunt in the woods." Sam pauses to swallow, his throat dry and his eyes becoming glassy. "And then he would… and then he would kill me. In a way that appeared as an accident, to 'spare our House the stain of my existence.'"

Rickon scowls, stands off the chair in a fury with his hand on the hilt of his sword, appearing for all the world like he will march to the Reach to take the Lord of Horn Hill's head. He begins pacing again, more agitated now than even before, and Sam wonders if he has erred in telling the story of what happened in the woods.

Rickon's pacing comes to a halt, and then the Prince looks at Sam with some unidentifiable emotion. He looks Sam right in the eye when he says, with the solemnity of a Septon and the barring of a royal.

"You deserve better than your father."

 _'_ _So do you.'_ Sam cannot say, but suspects Rickon hears him anyways by the upward quirk of the boy's lip.

"You're worth a thousand Randyll Tarlys, Sam. You're smarter than anyone I've ever known, and one day, everyone will see how brilliant you are." Rickon's sincerity is jarring, and it leaves Sam bumbling (and feeling warm in a place where Randyll Tarly's words had left him cold). In a way, Sam had never left that forest. But here Rickon was, a fellow abandoned son, offering to find their way out together.

Rickon takes a step closer to Sam, and pats his shoulder in a reassuring way. "You should probably start teaching me something, before we start hugging and crying and I ruin your pretty Maester-in-training garb with whatever I've stuck on me from the yard." Rickon jests with a teasing smirk, and Sam can't stop the wet laugh that gurgles up his throat.

"Splendid idea." Sam agrees, wiping his eyes with his sleeves. Smiling came so easily with Rickon, who seemed to always know just when to lighten the mood, despite his young age. "How about we continue where we left off? We just finished the First Blackfyre Rebellion. How about we discuss the Second one next?

The Prince listens to the story with rapt attention. During the part where the more skilled Daemon contests Daeron's claim, Rickon's eyes take on a strange glint (but it is something Sam will not recognize for the hazard it becomes until many years later.)

Sam just finishes telling Rickon about "the Hammer and the Anvil", a crowd favorite from the bards which immortalizes the Battle of the Redgrass Field, when a soft knock on the door is heard.

Sam looks towards the door as it is slowly pushed open, and smiles. "Princess Rhaenys."

The Princess gracefully walks into the small space, with a warm expression. "Lord Sam." She nods towards him, before turning towards a seated Rickon. She gives his soiled clothing an unimpressed raised brow. "Prince Bath-Averter."

The Prince sticks his tongue out in response to the new moniker.

Rhaenys lets out a tinkling laugh before stepping forward to rustle the boy's hair. He fakes a struggle, but clearly basks in his older sister's attention.

"How are lessons going?" She enquires politely.

"Well, Princess. I hope your lessons at the Sept went well, as well." Sam internally bemoans his inability to speak properly around the Princess. Only fourteen years old, and already her beauty is sung about by bards, sought after by Lords, and capable of turning him into a stuttering ball of nerves during their interactions, despite their acquaintance.

Rhaenys smiles indulgently and Sam feels his stomach twist. "Again, I thank you for taking the time to teach my baby brother, I know he can be a handful."

Rickon snorts at that, before getting off of his chair to strongly embrace his sister.

"I missed you." He says quietly as they loosen their hug.

"And I missed you." She responds warmly. She playfully frowns then, bringing her hand onto his head, which is almost of height with hers. "Soon you might just be taller than me, and you're not yet 10 years old."

Rickon grins, standing up straighter.

Rhae's smile turns teasing. "Don't get too proud about it, lest your head swell and grow even more inflated than Aegon's. I just came from a meal with our dear brothers and father. Never has there been a duller affair. I kept looking out the window, wishing I were a dragon that could fly away."

"Fly, huh?" Rickon smirks.

Then the Prince bends his knees, and quickly pulls the Princess over his shoulder. _'He's strong,'_ thinks Sam in slight awe, as he watches Rickon spin the Princess around and around. The Princess laughs readily in between her half-hearted protests.

And then she coughs. A haggard, wet cough.

Rickon immediately sets her down, and brings his hands upon her shoulders. There is clear distress furrowing his brows.

Having previously taken a step back to avoid the spinning siblings, Sam now approaches the duo quickly. He looks the Princess over for other overt signs of sickness, concerned by the foreboding sound of such an ominous cough. "Princess, are you well?"

She nods, her cheeks flushed, ostensibly from the spinning. "Very much so, Lord Sam."

Rickon frowns, his hands still firmly on her shoulders. "That cough didn't sound well."

The Princess smiles while patting Rickon's cheek. "Thank you both for your concern." She then pokes Rickon's nose, which is scrunched into an anxious frown as he continues to worriedly examine his sister. "But, I am perfectly fine."

* * *

 **Rickon cannot lose Rhaenys**

 **(especially not like this, dying in a bed like his birthmother had)**

* * *

Rhae is everything to Rickon. A sister. A best friend. A teacher. A _mother._

So seeing her in lying prone in a bed – the same bed she has been in for a week – in a pale and sickly state is gut-wrenching. Rickon spends every night by her bed, changing her fever head cloths for cooler ones. Balerion is the only one who keeps an equally steadfast vigil.

"If she doesn't improve soon, she may never improve at all." Says Maester Pycelle. Rickon nearly claws off the old man's face off when he says it, but is stopped by Sam. Sam who he trusts, and Sam who _agrees_.

 _'_ _Rhaenys is dying… The Stranger will come to take her away, and then I will have no one.'_ Rickon looks to her damp skin. _'I will have no one … I don't know how to be without her. We have always had each other, even when we had no one else.'_ Rickon speaks through his own budding tears. "Don't leave." He begs. "Please don't leave me."

The eighth day, her fever peaks, and Maester Pycelle announces she will be dead by nightfall. "Fight!" Rickon orders her, crying as he shakes her arm. "Fight!" But her fever stays, cooling cloths do nothing, and Rickon fears every minute will be her last.

Rickon isn't much for praying (he prayed for years for his father and brothers to love him, and look how that turned out). But that night, he prays to every god Sam has ever mentioned, every one he's ever heard whisper of. He prays to each of the Seven, the Old Gods, the Drowned God, the Lord of Light, the Many-Faced God, the Great Stallion, Mother Rhoyne, the Great Shepherd, the Lady of Spears, the Black Goat, even the Weeping Lady. _'If anyone is listening'_ pleads Rickon. _'Save her. Please, please, please save her. If you save her, I swear on my life I will do whatever you ask of me.'_

Her fever abates somewhat on the ninth day, but she remains unconscious. "Still knocking on the Stranger's door." According to Maester Tarot.

It is the tenth day into this hell, that Balerion's hackles rise. Rickon looks away from his sister only when he hears something strange echo along the halls outside the room.

Rickon hears the faint jingling of bells.

.x.

It is terror of being alone with his lifelong tormentor that sends Rickon to shoo Balerion away, and toss himself under the frame of Rhae's bed. He commands himself not to make a sound. There is no intent to spy, just escape.

And yet, what Rickon overhears that day, while fearfully hiding underneath a Healing Chambers bed, changes _everything_.

* * *

 **They cannot crown a corpse**

* * *

When she awakens, Rhaenys is unsurprised (and immensely relieved) to find Rickon by her bedside.

The others come and go into the room, paying lip service to how glad they are that she is better. They say how grateful they are that she is expected to make a full recovery. They enter the room, say their words, then depart.

 _'Years later, and people still always leave.'_

Rickon doesn't leave, serves as an intractable sentinel by her bedside. His hand tightens on hers when Aegon and Jon make an appearance, and she fears in that moment what they could have done to her youngest brother while she was not there to deter their nastier impulses.

Rickon does not seem to calm even when their brothers leave. Instead his breathing increases, his grip on her hand tightens further, and Rhaenys sees an ugly hatred in Rickon's eyes as he stares upon their retreating backs. _'What did they do to you?'_ A terrible apprehension claws in her gut. Rickon had until now been afraid of Aegon, and mostly numb towards Jon. But now his eyes… Rickon's northern grey eyes are _searing_ in their fury. _'It is nothing so tame as hatred now.'_ Thinks Rhaenys, with a growing wariness. _'This is something much, much worse.'_

Rickon turns towards her fully. His eyes remain hard. When he explains himself, Rhaenys's heart breaks.

"It was Aegon." He says, looking her straight in the eye, unblinking. "He poisoned you."

Rhaenys wants to say Rickon is wrong, but something knocks at the back of her mind and says that Aegon has already proven himself capable of hurting those of his blood, while Rickon is incapable of lying to her so convincingly.

He tells her a tale, of a boy who crawled under a bed to getaway from a monster. And then how the monster came into the room, unknowing of the audience, and said outlandish things to a dying Princess.

"He said he was having the same nightmare, again and again. Where the King gave you a crown. And then you place it on me. And then he said you were too much like your mother, that you had the face of a well-loved martyr. He said you are too treasured by the nobles to ever be opposed by those who wanted a King instead of a Queen if your father crowned you. He said he would mourn the loss of his truest sibling, but he had no choice. Then he said… then he said, 'Well I suppose it will no longer be an issue. They cannot crown a corpse.' And then he _laughed._ "

Rhaenys, for more than a moment, cannot breathe. But then she feels the bracing sensation of anger burning through her veins. She tries to sit up in the bed, but is quickly halted by Rickon stopping her ascent.

Rhaenys scowls. "We must tell someone what you heard."

"NO!" Rickon yells, glowering as he lowers his voice. "No, they _never_ believe me. No one ever believes me about him. Except for you." There is a pause where Rickon's mouth keeps making as if it wants to move to fill the quiet. He clearly has more to say, but seems hesitant to phrase his thoughts. Rhaenys waits.

Rickon's eyes blink, and then they begin to shine. "You must leave."

Rhaenys starts at the suggestion, then shakes her head emphatically. "No." She says sternly. "I will not leave you here alone."

Rickon's voice gets thick. "If you stay with me then I will lose you, and that will hurt me worse than he ever could. _Please,_ Rhae. You must leave."

Rhaenys frowns. "If I am wanted dead, it will not be enough for me just to leave the Red Keep."

Rickon seems to hate himself with his next suggestion. He sighs, tiredly. "If you are no longer a Targaryen, he will leave you be."

Rhaenys hates the way her logic knows he is right. So she considers his request. Her hand must be given to an heir of one of the Kingdoms, so her options are limited.

The first land she thinks of is the Reach. Willas Tyrell is of age with her, and High Garden would still be close enough to have Rickon visit her. But she discards that option quickly. The Tyrells want their daughter as Aegon's wife, which will not happen if they already have a royal wedded into their family.

The Stormlands and Westerlands are impossible, even if they were to be considered. Stannis Baratheon has but a single daughter, while Jaime Lannister's wife had only produced stillborn after stillborn. Even if either Lord had a male heir, Rhaenys is well aware of exactly how she would be treated in those lands, after the Baratheons' Branding, as well as her grandfather and father's repeated insults to Tywin Lannister.

The Iron Islands would serve well to get her far away from King's Landing. But Lord Rodrick Greyjoy had only had one young son so far, one who was years younger than even Rickon. His youngest brother – the only one of the Greyjoy men not wed or betrothed – is of age with her, but no one in King's Landing will stand for her being wed to a third son.

The Eyrie would be the only place worse than Storm's End and Casterly Rock. Her father had _destroyed_ the Great House of Arryn. Currently it was ruled by young Roloph Arryn, born a Gulltown Arryn, who was the nearest male heir best related to the old Great House. Again, even if she suspected the Vale would take her (which it wouldn't, it would spit on any betrothal offer and shove the messenger through their Moon Door), she is quite certain from Septa Eglantine's lessons that Roloph is already betrothed to a Yronwood girl.

Then there is Dorne, which is not an option at all. The heirs are her first cousins, and in truth, her father would gain nothing from marrying her there. The Martells were already loyal to Elia's children.

That leaves… the North.

Tricky. Robb Stark is only about three years younger than her – a year older than Jon. How would they receive her? She supposes it would depend on if they hated Queen Lyanna or the Targaryens more. And then another consideration: would Dorne be insulted to have Queen Elia's daughter sent to Queen Lyanna's homeland?

Rhaenys turns her gaze to Rickon. _'Rickon can easily become a ward of the North. So, no matter how they might receive me, I will make the most of it. This is the only way I see where I can save Rickon too.'_

(' _Promise me, Rhaenys. Promise me.'_ )

 _'_ _I'll not leave you here.'_ Rhaenys thinks fiercely, remembering Lyanna's plea. _'I know what it is like to be left… And I will_ not _leave you to the mercy of our increasingly volatile brothers.'_

She has been pushing away what Rickon said, compartmentalizing it behind a door in her mind that she will broach another day. She tries her best to ignore it in the interim because it hurts to much to even consider. True, Aegon had been cruel to Rickon multiple times, but an optimistic part of her had always hoped he would grow out of it, even after the arrow incident. After all, he grew out of refusing to spend time with Jon when they were younger. And Aegon had only ever been kind (polite) to her, even when she admittedly grew colder to him after the arrow incident. They never really played together, him being the heir and having very important lessons. But she had never thought that he fostered such deep seated resentment for her. And where there was Aegon, there was Jon.

 _'_ _We may not be close, but I love them too.'_ She thinks, her chest hurting with every beat. _'How could they?'_

.x.

A week later and she finally regains her strength. Or at least enough of it for her and Rickon to approach the King.

They arrive in their father's solar, heralded by a wary Ser Oswell.

When she enters on Rickon's arm, she takes a good look at the man sitting behind the large oak desk. The man who sired her has silvery-white eyes, a gaunt face, and dead eyes. For a moment, she sees her grandfather instead.

(' _Perhaps trial by fire'_ he jeered through disgusting smile on a wrinkled face.)

Then she registers the lack of an arm, and is pulled back from her memories.

 _'_ _I see none of Rickon nor I in you, Father.'_

Beside her, Rickon is still as stone. Rhaenys is aware of how much Rickon fears and hates their father in equal measure, so proposes the betrothal and wardship on her own.

Rhaegar's violet eyes stay on her; he does deign to even acknowledge Rickon is in the room and that makes Rhaenys's blood boil.

( _'…_ _prove the Dornish girl to be a true Targaryen.'_ )

Finally, the King speaks.

"I will send you North." He looks to Rhaenys. "You will be Lady of Winterfell." Then he frowns, glancing towards Rickon. "The boy stays here."

Rickon stiffens, but does nothing other than glare at the floor. Rhaenys does not take her father's decree so easily.

"Then I will not leave either." She says, chin up as she defies the King.

Rhaegar sneers. "It doesn't matter what you want. You may be a Princess, but I am the King, and your Father besides. You obey me." He scowls. "Do not question me again, daughter. Learn your place."

In that moment Rhaenys knows fear. As much as she never wanted to leave Rickon alone, Rickon was also a layer of protection for her in the North. He had Stark blood if not the North's love of those holding the Stark name. _'What will they do to me, without him beside me?'_ She remembers the words of her Septa then, _'savages, brutes, heathens, cannibals.'_

"Send her to Dorne first." Rickon speaks up.

Rhaegar still refuses to look at Rickon, and does not acknowledge her brother nor his suggestion.

Rickon continues, speaking up for her despite the dread she knows he must feel in addressing their father. "Dorne is already angry at you for so much, do you think that they will react warmly to you sending Queen Elia's image to wed into Queen Lyanna's family? Send her to Dorne for a few years at least to appease them."

Rhaegar scowls, an ugly thing that warps his face into something terrible.

"You _dare_ speak? Get _out_. Both of you. Leave my sight, before even the memory of your mothers cannot save you from the punishment given to those that defy their King."

.x.

In hindsight, trying to sneak away with Rickon to Dorne under the cover of night had been a _stupid_ idea. They were caught before they even left the castle, only the Kingsguard followed them long enough to ascertain a destination and to see if they had any co-conspirators. Which, of course, they didn't. Rhaenys's only plan had been trading in the jewellery she grabbed for their passage. It was hardly a well-thought out escape. It had been one of desperation.

"Please, Ser Lewyn." Rhaenys implores. "Do not bring us back to him. Let us leave. If you ever held any affection for my mother, you will let us leave this horrid place."

For a moment it seems as though Ser Lewyn hesitates, but only a moment.

.x.

This time when they are brought before their father, it is not in his solar but in the empty throne room. He sits ramrod straight on the Iron Throne, glaring at his wayward spawn from his place above them.

 _'_ _A throne forged from a thousand swords of the vanquished, per legend. But truly only 283. I know, I counted.'_

The King rises from the Iron Throne, and his glare does not abate. His voice is sharp when he speaks, glowering straight at her. "Are you so ambitious for your brother's crown?"

Rhaenys jerks back, completely thrown. "What?" She asks, inanely.

Her father comes down the steps with harsh footfall. When he reaches her, he yanks her towards him by her arm, holding it in a bruising grip. She yelps in pain, and hears Rickon struggle from where he is held beside her by two of the Kingsguard. "You run away to support the Prince that is loved by all, usurp your brother, the rightful heir. _Treason_." He shakes her roughly, his grip unrelenting and increasingly painful. He his breathing is raged when he continues. "Clearly, I was too lenient with you. Too tricked by your face. Allow me to rectify that."

He releases her arm, and she is relieved but for a moment. Then she sees him lift his hand up to the side, clearly with the intent to backhand her. She shuts her eyes, flinching and expecting a sting upon her cheek, but instead feels herself being covered.

' _Rickon.'_ She knows.

And when she opens her eyes, she sees the sight she expected. Rickon with a reddening cheek, having taken the blow in her place after he somehow extricated himself from Ser Darry and Ser Dayne. Ser Lewyn remains standing on her other side, too far to stop the Prince ( _or perhaps he had chosen not to_ ).

The King's expression grows even more infuriated. "Was it your idea?" He spits out at her brother. "To take my daughter away."

Rickon stands in front of her, still a couple of inches shorter than her but shielding her the only way he can. "With all due respect," Which everyone in the throne room knows is absolutely none felt from the boy towards the King. "I am not the Targaryen known for stealing ladies, _Your Grace_." He finishes mockingly.

The King looks enraged enough to call for her brother's head, but then her father's expression turns pensive. His eyes flit between her and Rickon. Before long suspicion radiates off of him, the same way Rhaenys remembers paranoia used to seep out of her grandfather. ( _'_ _Perhaps trial by fire._ _To prove the Dornish girl a true Targaryen.'_ ). Rhaenys hastily shoves aside the echo of her grandfather.

"I should have known to worry for this." The current King derides. "You both are too close, have always been too close. Perhaps you've some Targaryen habits if not the Targaryen looks."

Rickon and Rhaenys both reel at the implication, and even the three Kingsguard seem taken aback by the King's accusation.

It is Rickon who recovers enough to respond first. "That's _sick!_ I love her as my _sister_! I'd never marry her!"

"It doesn't matter what you feel. Rhaenys will leave for Dorne at dawn. The next time you see her, she will be wedding Robb Stark. And in the years between, you are banned from writing to each other." The King speaks his commands calmly, unperturbed by what his words steal from his children. "I will not have you conspiring together against the Crown."

Rhaenys is shocked into stillness, Rickon is too. The King is doing what no one has ever done, tearing them both from the safest person they know.

Finally, Rickon breaks the silence. " _Why_? You've let Aegon and Jon be cruel to me for my entire life, and now you rip away from me the only family I have. How could... _why_ do you hate me so much?"

Rhaenys wonders the same, has wondered it for a long time. _'How can a father hate their son?'_ She has long suspected the answer, of course, but doubts her coward of a father will ever voice it.

Since King Rhaegar has always dismissed Rickon, no one expects an answer to her brother's question. But, to everyone's surprise, the King does respond to him. "You were born late."

Rhaenys and Rickon are both baffled at the apparent non sequitur.

"What?" Spouts a confused Rickon.

The King continues, his voice turning colder with every sentence. "You would be larger, the Maester warned me. The birth would likely have complications. So he told me to choose. He could save either you or your mother."

Rickon growls then. "How can you hate me so much, then? You _chose_ me."

"No." The King's words are ice. "I chose your mother, and yet you breathe while she does not."

Rickon stumbles. "W-What?"

Rhaenys cuts in, remembering that conversation too well (it has haunted her for _years_ ). " _Liar_." She hisses. "You sentenced Lyanna to die for a daughter, and were angry when the gods gave you a son instead." Rhaenys does not know what possesses her to continue, but she does. "You make me sick. You show your true colours today, _Your Grace._ "

The King's face morphs into bewilderment with her last words. He looks at her strangely then, eyes hooked onto her as if he is seeing someone else in her place.

He shakes his head then, returning from his mind. His eyes still linger on her though, despite his bitter words being directed towards Rickon.

"You ripped through my happiness, and now I send away yours." Their father signals the Kingsguard. "Have the boy confined to his quarters. Rhaenys will be kept in the Maidenvault while the servants pack her belongings."

At his words, Rhaenys feels something sinister twist her gut.

 _'Why the Maidenvault?'_

* * *

 **Rickon is the only one who sees Rhaenys**

 **(everyone else sees Elia)**

* * *

Rhaenys is fourteen and fuming, furiously pacing in some unknown room of the Maidenvault.

( _'Promise me, Rhaenys. Promise me.'_ )

 _'_ _I'm sorry.'_ Rhaenys feels her eyes water, _again_ , and she rubs at them punitively _. 'I do not know what to do. I do not know how to save him.'_

Rhaenys is shocked from her brooding by a loud knock on her door. Rhaenys frowns, curious as to who Ser Darry could be announcing at so late an hour.

 _'_ _Rickon?!'_ She suspects, and turns with a hopeful smile, only for it to sour when she sees her father instead of her brother.

Well, first she sees him. Then she _smells_ him. The King reeks of ale.

He wobbles over to her, his gait unbalanced and his eyes not straying from her face. He approaches her with his pungent odor, but Rhaenys stays her ground. Her back holds erect, and her chin up. She will not allow this awful man to see her scared and meek ever again.

He steps towards her, swaggers, then grips her shoulder with his remaining hand to steady himself. He is too close, and the air is saturated with alcohol.

He smiles at her, and Rhaenys nearly keels over on shock. She has not seen him smile in … in _years_.

He brings his remaining hand up to her hair, fiddling with the inky locks.

"You truly do look so much like your mother." He slurs out, his finger swirling about a strand. "Before Lya, things were different. Elia and I were not in love with each other, but we were fond of each other. And she was truly a sight to look at." His palm moves to her cheek, stroking it in a way that sends uncomfortable chills up Rhaenys's arms. "You have her beauty, but without her frailty." His face is flushed and his eyes droop low, his gaze half on her lips and half in the past. "How badly do you want to be Queen?"

Rhaenys realizes with horror what Aegon's dream truly meant. And further realizes that had he not tried to kill her, she may have done it. May have given herself to her monster of a father thinking it could save Rickon. _'A Queen has powers a Princess never will.'_

But Rhaenys knows better now.

She remembers her grandmother _. 'Queens can be raped.'_

She remembers her mother. _'Queens can be replaced.'_

And then she remembers Lyanna. _'Queens can be killed.'_

The King steps even closer, his breath rancid. His only hand falls onto the slope of her neck, and Rhaenys is horrified. It is clear that he no longer sees his daughter, but his dead wife. The woman he had bedded, who had given him children. He is drunkenly desperate for the past, a time when his first wife's life meant his second wife still lived. She looks with urgency to her Kingsguard, eyes pleading for him to do something to stop this. But Ser Darry, the man who has guarded her since she was a child, the man who spent years at her side, the man who she _trusted_ does nothing but keep his gaze firmly on the opposing wall.

Rhaenys feels something in her chest crack.

(Later, when she looks closely at the growing ache, she will realize it comes from the same fissure first opened by _'they cannot crown a corpse'._ The insidious fracture grows wider with every betrayal, a gaping hole that drains her light.)

She is alone; if she wants to be saved she best save herself, because there will be no one to come to her aid.

Rhaeny's eyes harden as she faces the drunkard. "I'd sooner slit my throat than be your Queen."

Rhaeger seems shaken at that, and his maudlin eyes appear to clear with her rejection. And then he strikes her across the face so suddenly, that she is thrown across the floor.

(This time his strike hits, there is no Rickon to shield her from it.)

Her eyes water from the pain, so she doesn't see him looming even closer until her head is being pulled up by her hair.

She cries out in pain.

"You really are _just_ like your mother." He spits it out, venomous now as his mouth brushes her ear. "Enjoy Dorne, my sweet. The Martells will treat you so very well." She feels the way his face snarls into a manic parody of a smile. "But, when I ship you North, well… from what I hear, Robb Stark will quite enjoy tempering your tongue. A savage boy eager to show off to the Northern Lords just how much power he holds over his Targaryen bride. Why, I can only imagine what sordid things he will do to you."

He releases her hair and she drops to her knees, tears of relief streaming down her face when she hears the door to her room slam shut.

 _'_ _It's over. I survived.'_

She brings her still shaking hand up to her cheek, then flinches away as her palm meets the throbbing skin. Her face burns, her eyes burn, her veins are aflame, and then Ser Darry comes to her side and has the gall to ask if she is okay.

In that moment, Rhaenys has never hated anyone more.

"If he had not realized I wasn't my mother, would you have stopped him?" She spits out.

He looks conflicted, but she discerns his answer from the guilt flaring in his eyes.

Rhaenys fumes. "You would have let him drag me underneath him? You would have stood by and done nothing as I begged for you to stop him, while he moaned my mother's name and set a bastard inside of me?"

Ser Darry looks nauseous. "It would not have come to that—"

Rhaenys shoves him away from her, forcing herself to stand. She despises the the tremors that shake her body, the tears that continue to trail down her cheeks. She is horrified that Ser Darry had not struck the Kings' hand from her - had not voiced a single objection. Ser Darry had protected her for years, and yet did nothing. It is clear that no one will ever defend her if it means raising a sword against their _King._ And the next King will be one who has already attempted to kill her. She has _no one._

 _'No. Not no one. I will always have_ _Rickon.'_

At the thought of her younger brother, her closest confidante who is soon to be ripped away from her, Rhaenys feels her heart shudder.

( _'Promise me, Rhaenys. Promise me.'_ )

"I should be thankful that Rickon has been barred from seeing me off. He might be the only person is this hellish place that would avenge the bruise growing on my face." She starts to walk away from a dumbstruck Ser Darry, eager to seek out Balerion's comfort.

She pauses in her steps, turning to face him over her shoulder. Her voice is dull as she echoes long famous words. "Do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, _to protect all women and children_? Do you swear to fight bravely when needed and to do the tasks laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?"

Ser Darry shivers at her words. _'Good.'_ Rhaenys thinks maliciously _. 'Let you feel off balance. Let you question your honour, your goodness; let you question your King. He is no longer the saint and saviour you all believed him to be. He has not been that man in years. In truth, I doubt he ever was. No, you all were just comparing him to the madness of King Aerys. And even know when you see his own burgeoning madness, you forgive it, because 'at least it isn't as bad as Aerys.' But which is worse? A man who repeatedly rapes his wife, or a man who would rape his own daughter?'_

"It is a long journey to Dorne, Ser Darry. I suggest you use the time for some personal reflection, perhaps on what it truly means to be a knight."

* * *

 **"Promise me, Rickon. Promise me."**

* * *

When she sneaks out shortly after the King leaves her chambers, Ser Darry does not even attempt to stop her, just silently follows while keeping a few paces behind her. From his stormy eyes, the man is clearly still reeling from the night's earlier events.

First they stop by Sam's room. And then she makes her way to the Barracks of the Kingsguard. And then she makes her way to both Ser Barristan and Ser Arys (who are guarding the rooms of Jon and Aegon, respectively). On the way, they pass by Varys, who eyes the mark on her cheek as long as he can before she is out his gaze. ("Surely the morning will offer more light, Lord Varys, should you wish to have a better look." She hisses. "Did you sell all your manners to collect your secrets?")

It is maybe two hours from dawn when Ser Darry and her finally approach their last destination.

It is Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn who stand guard outside Rickon's door.

 _'_ _Not protecting him,'_ seethes Rhaenys, _'imprisoning him.'_

She stands before her brother's door and raises a brow. The two guards flinch, uncertain, but remain steadfast in their position.

Rhaenys feels her ire climb, and is just about to unleash her fury when she hears Ser Darry's voice.

"Let them." He says gruffly. "We owe them this, at least."

Ser Lewyn sighs, and Ser Arthur nods, both clearly relieved. The latter knocks on Rickon's door, mustering a tired smile as he tells the boy through his door that he has a visitor.

Rhaenys waits for only a moment before the door is opening, and a blur comes towards her, hugging her tightly.

"I'm sorry!" He wails. "I wish—"

"Shhh." Rhaenys shushes him as she runs her hand threw his dark curls. "Shhh."

And then Rickon sobs.

Once the heaving of his shoulders subsides, his face turns to her. His eyes are as red as their house banner, and his fury just as black as the banner of another house when he notes the burgeoning bruise on her face.

"I won't let him get away with it." Rickon vows, voice low and solemn. His arms tighten around her. "I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."

Only the two of them know that there are three Rickon is truly referring to with his oath.

She smiles at him, warmly. Bringing her hands to his cheek, she kisses his forehead. "Look out for yourself, please. I could not bear it if something were to happen to you."

Rickon nods distractedly, eyes stuck memorizing the darkening welt on her cheek.

Rhaenys frowns. "That half-hearted nod is not enough. You must promise. Be careful and be smart about this, use your anger and do not let it use you." Rhaenys shakes his shoulders. "Promise me, Rickon. Promise me. I need you to take care with your actions and your words."

"I promise." He says, finally, before tightly hugging her again, and demanding a promise from her. His request is muffled in her shoulder, but she hears his words easily. "Promise me that I will see you again." Rickon sniffles, and Rhaenys is reminded that they are still just children. Rickon is nine, and she is four and ten, and they have been forced to grow and mature beyond their years in this pit of plotters. He is her brother, she is his sister, they are each others' truest friends, and now they will not see each other for _years_. Rhaenys feels her face crack, her own tears spilling despite her effort to remain strong for her baby brother. Rhaenys gently pushes him away. Rickon seems confused, until she bends down to her side and lifts up a familiar tuft of black fur.

Rickon seems scandalized. "No! Balerion is _your_ cat."

Rhaenys offers him a watery smile. "He is. You are just borrowing him. And you _will_ take care of him." _'And he will take care of you, when I cannot.'_ "And when we see each other again, you will return him to me." She is trying to convey that no matter what, they will see each other again.

She considers it a victory when Rickon smiles back, understanding her message. "A loan?"

 _'_ _A shield for your heart, someone nearby to love you even when I am far away.'_

Rhaenys lets out a congested laugh. "Yes, a loan."

Rickon reaches out for their familiar carefully, slowly pulling the feline into his arms. The cat squawks a bit at the transfer, and Rickon pulls on its remaining ear, whispering his jest loudly. "Keep quiet, Balerion. I have a window. Don't tempt me to see if you can fly as well as your namesake." The cat crawls up the Prince in retribution for the taunt, and takes a seat on the back of his head and neck. Rickon sighs, patting the cat affectionately as it makes a home amidst his wild curls.

Rhaenys looks at them, carves this last innocent image of her heart into her mind.

 _('_ _Promise me, Rhaenys. Promise me.')_

* * *

 **Rhaenys does not die, but Rickon loses her anyways**

* * *

Morning comes too quickly, and before she knows it Rhaenys is in the middle of a courtyard, her items packed in carriages that are ready to take both her luggage and her to the pier.

Rhaenys is polite and stilted when she exchanges farewells with her brothers. Her father is noticeably absent, for which she is abundantly grateful.

Her skin tingles when Aegon hugs her. There stopped being even a superficial ease of such familiarity between the three of them after the arrow incident, so the act surprises her. She is helped into the carriage by Ser Darry, still refusing to speak to him. Once she is seated in the stifling carriage, she cannot help but look through its overly adorned window as she is taken away from the only home she has ever known. As she watches on, Aegon and Jon become smaller and smaller until they are nothing. She wonders if her father watched her departure from one of the many windows of the Keep?

( _'You really are just like your mother.'_ )

Rhaenys is left with her thoughts, a dangerous thing, she has come to learn.

 _'_ _I raised Rickon. But, who had been a mother to Aegon and Jon?'_

Is she to blame for their hatred of her? She had been a mother to Rickon. What had she been to Aegon and Jon? She thought she had been their sister. But maybe they never saw her as family.

Maybe they too only saw the face of Queen Elia. Perhaps they – like the rest – saw only the shadow of a well-loved Queen.

And perhaps in their minds, that shadow morphed into a threat.

 _'_ _Did you plot my death together?"_

* * *

 ** _Crack. Crack. Crack._**

 ** _The fissures continue to spread._**

* * *

So that monster of a chapter sucked some life out of me. Literally 42 pages on my computer. **PLEASE review, so I know people are actually reading this** :P It is so utterly heartbreaking to see so many views on the story but so few reviews. In my head, it translates to people giving the story a try and then hating it. And even if that is the case, I wouldn't mind some constructive criticism on how to make the story/my writing better. So **please review,** even if it's just a review saying you read the chapter and are somewhat happy with it, I'll take it ;P Or better yet, reviews pointing out any grammar mistakes or spelling mistakes (which I'm sure are plentiful, this chapter is too long for me to be capable of editing and still remain fully alert). What did you guys think about Sam? What role do you think he'll play in later chapters? Did the Rickon and Rhaenys sibling bond make you happy or annoyed? Rhaegar is terrible, I know, but non-Joffrey and non-Ramsay villains are needed LOL What do you guys think about Jon? Anyone sense something off about him? Remember, **we** **have not seen Jon and Aegon's POVs yet! **If there is one thing you might gather from my other Game of Thrones fanfic, it is that I love playing with unreliable narrators.

(Something to consider: be wary of stories told by someone rather than something you read... this plot has an underbelly...)

Below are the **Updated Timeline** and **Responses to Reviewers** and **Preview for Chapter 2 Part 3.**

Also looking for a beta to help edit future chapters, anyone interested?

* * *

 _ **Updated Timeline**_

* * *

 **275 AC:** Cersei hears Maggy's prophecy (no valonqar)

 **279 AC (Year -2)** : **Rhaenys** Targaryen is born. Elia takes a long time to recover from delivering Rhaenys.

 **281 AC (Year 0):** Elia pregnant with Aegon. Maester Pycelle tells Rhaegar that if this second child doesn't die during labour and/or kill his wife, the next one will. Harrenhal tourney (and thus the QOLAB passover) is thus even more shocking because it happens when Elia Martell is pregnant. **Aegon** Targaryen is born. Lyanna 'abducted', Brandon Stark and Rickard Stark die per canon, Robert's Rebellion starts, including Ned's marriage to Cat. **Willas** Tyrell is 2 years old, **Loras** Tyrell is 1 year old, **Renly** **Baratheon** is 4 years old.

 **282 AC (Year 1): Robb** Stark and **Margaery** Tyrell born. Viserys and a pregnant Rhaelle sent to Dragonstone for protection, but when Baratheons seize it, they run away via ship. Stannis chases them, but due to a storm, cannot find them. They are considered lost at sea and dead.

 **283 AC (Year 2): Jon Targaryen** born and Robert's Rebellion ends. Lyanna Stark crowned the "Second Queen". End of war reparations (infamously known as 'Rhaegar's Reparations') announced. This includes the beheadings of Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully, and Balon Greyjoy; Stannis and Renly getting traitor brands on their arm and hand, respectively; Lannisters paying reparations to the crown; and Tyrells being denied the betrothal of Margaery to Aegon at the time (though Rhaegar tells the Tyrells she is still one of the females to be considered in the future). Ned returns to the North sans fake-bastard.

 **284 AC (Year 3):** Stannis marries Cersei Lannister. Elia dies leaving behind three-year-old Aegon and five-year-old Rhaenys. Rickon Targaryen conceived. **Sansa** Stark born to Catelyn Stark. After stint in Maidenvault to ensure she wasn't pregnant with an Aryrn heir, Lysa betrothed to Jaime Lannister.

 **285 AC (Year 4)** : **Shireen** Baratheon (born to _**Cersei Baratheon**_ ). **Rickon Targaryen** born (Lyanna dies while giving birth to him). **Arya** and **Bran** – twins – born to Catelyn.

 **292 AC (Year 11):** Aegon shoots an arrow into Rickon's back. Rhae arranges for Rickon to get lessons with Sam (instead of with Aegon and Jon), and for Arthur Dayne to teach him.

 **294 AC (Year 12):** Rhaenys poisoned. Rhaegar agrees to betroth Rhaenys to Robb, but refuses to let Rickon ward there. They try to run away, but are stopped by the Kingsguard. Rhaegar propositions Rhaenys in front of Darry, she declines. She is sent to Dorne.

* * *

 _ **Responses to Reviewers**_

* * *

 **(beware spoilers)**

 **BIG thanks to** **all** **the reviewers, you lot are literally the reason I keep posting, and why I powered through this monster of a chapter (despite an upcoming exam, whoops? ; P )**

 **Xanmelton** – To your point re: Lewyn and honour, hopefully the above chapter cleared it up a bit. I get what you mean about it being war, but in this fic, the reason why everyone is saying it was 'dishonurable' is because Rhaegar and Robert were essentially engaged in a 1 on 1 and he stabbed Robert _after_ Robert had clearly won. Some people feel Lewyn did his duty as a kingsguard by protecting the prince, but more people (further powered by their dislike for Rhaegar) say he's dishonourable for killing the victor of a fair fight. Hopefully that makes it a little bit more believable? What did you think of Lewyn in this chapter?

 **Aggiefan15** – Thanks for your review! Happy you enjoyed the Stannis and Cersei interactions, I was initially armouring up for a lot of negative reviews about the pairring, so I'm happy you liked it. Which part of their interactions did you like the most/least? They'll be back soon, hinted at in Part 3 ;) Any other pairrings you'd like to see more of?

 **Marvelmyra** – Thanks for your review! Hopefully this chapter soothed a bit regarding Lyanna. What did you think of her interactions with Rhae? I still think not wanting to marry Robert was a piss poor excuse for eloping with a married guy, but I guess we'll agree to disagree there ;P Hmm Lyanna and Oberyn would be interesting. I recently read a Lyannax Jaime on AO3 - one where Jaime essentially saves her from a disillusioned marriage with Rhaegar and found it pretty interesting, but I've never given Oberyn and Lyanna a try. Will definitely try a fic of them. Any recommendations? Lyanna's letter being stolen by Lysa and Petyr would totally be in keeping with their plotting natures, but I'm not sure if the canon timing / locations of them work out (esp. if she sent the letter from Winterfell or Dorne). Also agree that it was mucho unfortunate that Brandon didn't do us the favour of lopping off Petyr's head along with his finger. I totally did not know about the moontea bit, so thanks for that! Adds another dimension to the whole "stillborn after sillborn thing"

 **Laurenbull** – I was really excited to try to create an AU where Cersei forgave Tyrion. I'm going to try to write a Tyrion POV in Part 3, but I may have to stuff it to Chapter 3 if Part 3 is anything like the monster this chapter was. SO happy you enjoyed Stannis and Cersei together. I was terrified of posting it, thinking I would get slaughtered in the reviews for such an 'out there' pairring, so I'm glad you enjoyed it! Which part of their interactions did you like the most/least? Oh man, you'll enjoy my plan for Rhaegar. There is essentially this scene between him and Rickon that helped spur this entire fic, and I can't wait to write it! Sneak peak on that Arryn fic - Stannis will have a twin sister who was married to Jon Arryn's heir. But no more hints until I get it out there ;) Glad to see you enjoed the Great Games too! Thanks so much for your reviews :D

 **saphirablue25** – I guess we'll have to agree to disagree on the whole Lyanna bit. Hopefully this chapter soothed a bit. I totally get that Robert was poor husband material, but I still don't feel like that excuses her for running off with a married man. If Elia was in on the need for a third child, I doubt she was in on being publically humiliated at Harrenhall. Trust me, I don't forgive Sansa at all for her selfishness. She is one of the characters who I despised for most of the series, and only really started being neutral towards (in the show) after the Battle of the Bastards. (And even then, when she suspected Arya, I gave up on me ever liking her as a character). It's mainly fanfiction time-travelling Sansa who I like. Thanks still for sharing your opinion : )

 **Guestling** – LOL happy to hear from someone who isn't on my case about Rhaegar and Lyanna not being portrayed as saints. Thanks! I think changing the plot is one of the things I most struggled with. There are so many characters impacted, that its often overwhelming to try to keep a handle on the plot. Please let me know if you see any jarring gaps and I'll try my best to addres them. Also, SO happy you enjoyed Stannis and Cersei. As I wrote in my other responses, I was totally afraid people would hate the pairing and am so glad readers seem to be enjoying it. Which part of their interactions did you like the most/least? You'll see more of their interactions in Chapter 3, but will likely get a hint of them via Shireen in Part 3! Thanks for your review! Also love your name ; P

 **sr168** – Thanks for your review! SO happy another reader is happy with Cersei and Stannis. I was terrified people would hate the pairing and how I wrote them, so I am SO GLAD that readers seem to be responding well to them. Which part of their interactions did you like the most/least? You'll get a hint of them via Shireen in Part 3, but will likely see more of their direct interactions in Chapter 3! Renly you'll definitely see in Part 3, he didn't take his vow to protect Shireen lightly ; ) Thoughts on Loras and Renly?

 **Ashley (period) Crowly (period) 10** \- thanks for your review! Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait ;) Which part do you like the best? Thanks for your review!

 **pokemonrot377** \- Thanks for your review and kind words : )

 **Becky Blue Eyes** \- OHHHH your review gave me warm fuzzies! I am SO glad you liked the Cersei and Stannis pairring. You'll see Shireen in the next chapter, but unfortunately, her relationship with her mother might not be what you expect (dun dun dunnn). THANKS SO MUCH for such a lovely review! You'll also see Tyrion either in Part 3 or Chapter 3 (depending on how many words I get going in Part 3). How did you like Rhaenys in this chapter?

 **DiscordantSymphony** \- Thanks for your review! Oh no, the next chapter might break your heart a bit, but I promise there will still be Stannis and Cersei! And you'll see some Renly being overprotective with Shireen, which will hopefully tide you over until we get more Cersei scenes in Chapter 3 ; ) What part of the Cersei / Stannis interactions did you like the most/least?

 **Guest** \- Oh I am SO happy someone commented on this. YES, yes, completely my thoughts exactly. I was always flabbergasted by how Ned just brushed off Lyanna's actions. I mean, in canon it makes sense because she died, but had she lived I don't think it possible for even Ned to be totally chill with her actions and their consequences. You'll see more of Ned likely in Chapter 3. thanks for your review! What did you think of Lyanna in this chapter? And brother/sister bond between Rhaenys and Rickon?

* * *

 _ **Preview for Chapter 2 Part 3**_

* * *

 _-"So I prayed to the gods "Take him away, make him die". He got the pox and I knew I was the worst woman who ever lived. A murderer. I'd condemned this poor, innocent child to a horrible death all because I was jealous of his mother, a woman he didn't even know! So I prayed to all Seven Gods "Let the boy live. Let him live and I'll love him. I'll be a mother to him... And he lived. And I couldn't keep my promise. And everything that's happened since then, all this horror that's come to my family...it's all because I couldn't love a motherless child." ~ Catelyn Stark, Game of Thrones 3x02: 'Dark Wings, Dark Words'_

-Sometimes... sometimes Rickon thinks Jon is even worse than Aegon

-I am cursed in more ways than one. A _kinslayer_ , a slight to the gods with my very breath.

-One cannot rule a kingdom they despise.

-AND FINALLY – RICKON AND SHIREEN's MEETING

(with some overprotective Renly thrown in ;) )

* * *

Please review!


	4. Chapter 2c: children without mothers

**HERE COMES PART 3 OF CHAPTER 2!**

* * *

 **DISCLAIMER:** Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of GRRM. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation, means of procrastination, and anxiety over whether readers will like the story enough to review or hate it enough to flame ;)

* * *

 **STORY SO FAR**

 **(I know I take too long to update, and I'm sorry! Use this summary to reacquaint yourselves with where we're at in this AU!):**

* * *

 **Chapter 1:** Rhaegar Targaryen loses in his one-on-one against Robert at the Battle of the Trident, but Lewyn kills Robert by stabbing him in the back. Rhaegar has his knights bring Lyanna and their newly born son (Jon) to King's Landing, where he crowns Lyanna as the Second Queen and starts dealing out "Rhaegar's reparations" (essentially punishing families who didn't support him as well as he feels they could have, or those families who supported the rebels). Lyanna becomes the second queen. Elia dies shortly after the rebellion ends. Lyanna dies giving birth to Rickon. We learn that there are some people who believe that Robert should have been King (calling him Robert the Wronged instead of Robert the Rebeller), and that there are already whispers of sedition being seeded around the Kingdom.

 **Chapter 2 Part 1:** We saw why Rhaegar was so brutal with his reparations (punishments for the rebel supporters), as well as how Cersei and Stannis came to care for each other (with some hints as to what Maggy's new prophecy to Cersei was throughout the chapter). Renly, who is traumatized from the branding, essentially vows to protect Cersei's child. Cersei has fears she will die in childbirth. This spurs her epiphany re: Tyrion not being to blame for her mother's death. She invites Tyrion to Storm's End.

 **Chapter 2 Part 2:** We see how Rhae becomes close to Lyanna. Lyanna makes Rhae promise to look after Rickon, fearing that Rhaegar won't because Rhaegar wanted a daughter (for the prophecy, though Rhaenys isn't made aware of that). Lyanna's POV re: why she ran, and we see that she writes letters to her brothers (sent to Winterfell). She also writers letters to the children (given to Rhaegar). From Lewyn's POV we see his struggle re: his vows, as well as Jaime's. We see that Rickon and Rhae are super tight, and that Rickon thinks of her as his sister/best friend/mother/etc. From Rickon's POV, Aegon hates him and Jon sides with Aegon. Arrow incident happens. Rhaegar is a jackass about it. Rhaenys finds out about the arrow incident and gets Sam (Maester in training) to be put in charge of Rickon's tutelage while ordering Ser Arthur Dayne to train him in swordplay. From Sam's POV we learn the Citadel is an independent city state

 **[I am well aware that in cannon, the Citadel is NOT a city state and NOT between the Reach and the Riverlands. However, for the purpose of this story, the Citadel is like the Vatican (an independent city state) – I am warping characters, history, and geography in this fic to suit my plot needs because ffn LOL. The significant of this will make sense later.]**

Rhaenys gets sick, Rickon tells her Aegon tried to poison her. Rhae tries to get herself betrothed to Robb Stark and Rickon made a ward of the North so that they can escape King's Landing, but Rhaegar is again, a jackass. They try to run, Rhaegar accuses them of planning to usurp crown from Aegon and 'punishes' them by sending Rhae to Dorne the next morning and banning her and Rickon from writing to each other. Rhae says something that mirrors Elia in chapter 1, Rhaegar gets drunk and essentially offers to wed her to make her Queen. Rhae says no, and gets an unfortunate dose of betrayal when Ser Darry doesn't step in to help her against Rhaegar's advances. Rhae repeats the knight vows, making Ser Darry question them. She makes an appearance to Sam, the members of the Kingsguard (though you won't know what for until later!), and then finally Rickon (to whom she gives Balerion as a "loan"). Rhaenys leaves for Dorne, worried for Rickon's safety, as well as fearing what Jon & Aegon are capable of.

 **Note: to fully understand the first part of chapter 2c (this chapter), I would recommend re-reading the segment of 2b (last chapter) under "Rickon is the only one who sees Rhaenys" (i.e. the bit with Rhaegar and Rhaenys and Ser Darry).**

 **A/N:** As always, **responses** to reviewers, updated timeline, and preview for Chapter 3 at the bottom.

 **A/N: Side note –** I just realized that one of Cersei's first lines was "surely the dead can wait" (it was to Robert re: him wanting to visit Lyanna in the Stark crypts). GRRM's foreshadowing truly knows no bounds – WHAT A BRILLIANT WRITER.

 **A/N:** Another side note: remember, you **have not** seen **Jon's POV** yet! So **Jon fans** , and reviewers wondering why the fudge he is apparently so OOC, please don't give up on this story quite yet. His actions will make sense when his POV comes, I promise!

* * *

.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

x

 _"A man should never refuse to taste a peach. He may never get the chance again."_

 _~Renly Baratheon, A Clash of Kings, Chapter Catelyn III_

x

 _"Promise me, Ned... Promise me."_

 _~Lyanna, A Game of Thrones, Chapter Ned I_

x

 _"The best part of him died with her."_

 _~Gerion, A Storm of Swords, Chapter Tyrion V_

x

 _"It should have been you"_

 _~ Catelyn [to Jon], Game of Thrones, 1x01_

x

 _"An open heart is what you'll get in Flea Bottom if you're not careful, my dear."_

 _~ Cersei, Game of Thrones, 3x01_

x

.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

* * *

 **.x.**

 **Wolves Aflame**

 _Chapter 2: children without mothers_

 _(Peaches & Promises & Penance)_

 ** _Part 3_**

 **.x.**

* * *

 **First, Rhaenys learns how to weaponize Elia's face**

* * *

 _294 AC_

When Rhaenys Targaryen's wheelhouse finally trundles onto Dornish sands, the bruise on her cheek is gone.

 _Its repercussions are not._

There are no scars left (on the outside, at least). Her shining dark hair cascades over smooth tawny shoulders, while burnt orange fabric cords around her body. She looks like her mother reborn. This is not coincidence; it is deliberate calculation. It's an equation that pans out as expected when Dorne meets her arrival with effusive fanfare. The smallfolk cheer with starry eyes; the nobles rejoice.

' _Elia. Elia. Elia.'_ they whisper in awe. ' _Elia. Elia. Elia.'_

Do they even know _her_ name?

 _'Of course not,'_ Rhaenys thinks bitterly, as she keeps a pleasant smile plastered to her face.

She will forever be _Elia Martell_ to everyone.

 _("You have her beauty, but without her frailty.")_

Rhaenys's no-longer-blemished cheek burns.

She loves her mother, she does. But Rhaenys does not forgive the prolific concept that she is crafted by the Gods for the sole purpose of being her well-loved mother's replacement.

Rhaenys approaches her mother's family for the first time with a quiet hello (Ser Arthur Dayne once mentioned how shy her mother could be when she was younger). She regally waves at the smallfolk lined up to see her, while kissing the smooth foreheads of their outstretched babes ("They loved when the Queen embraced their children," Ser Lewyn Martell told her, years ago). Rhaenys even begins spinning her charm onto the nobles of Dorne (even the old, disgusting ones. The ones who tell her that - despite her face - she has some of Queen Rhaella's beauty in her, all while running their eyes up and down the curves of her body). Rhaenys tolerates their lecherous gazes with a pleasant expression.

It's all not necessary, not truly, because after all: ' _Elia. Elia. Elia.'_

Rhaenys has to forcibly stop herself from falling to her knees and sobbing when she sees how plentiful and strong the peach trees are in her mother's homeland. But she doesn't dare look too close. Even just a glimpse of them propels her into her past, where she hears four-year-old Rickon laughing and squealing, _"Rhae! Rhae, look! Look how high I am!"_

She passes many of the haunting trees – the ones that look so much like the ones she once taught Rickon to climb, like the ones Viserys once taught _her_ to climb – on her way to massive atrium of Sunspear's Glory Gallery, where a grand welcoming banquet awaits. By the time she shakes her mind from the past, she is seated at the head table and in a conversation with her infamous uncle, sampling her way through the lavish foods.

The main table is lined with plump nectarines that burst in her mouth, honeyed duck that is perfectly glazed, and dear goodness, the sweet roasted peaches —

"Did you know those were your mother's favourite, too?"

 ** _{They don't taste so sweet anymore, do they doppelgänger?}_**

"No, I did not." The sugar turns to acid in her throat. "Please, do tell me more, Uncle Oberyn."

Does her smile still look real? She hopes so. Even if it falters, she suspects the haze of alcohol will blind the others to it. Arbour Gold saturates the feast in honour of her arrival. And yet, despite her cousins' and half-cousin's (and even Uncle Oberyn's) persistent prodding, she politely declines any. Not even a sip of the amber liquid. Uncle Doran is pleased by her abstinence, "your mother wasn't fond of alcohol either." At that, Rhaenys almost hisses out that, believe it or not, her every decision isn't an attempt to be like her mother (well it is, just not for the reasons they think).

After all… _his_ breath smelt pungently of wine, an odour she will forever associate with that awful night. And it is already all she can handle to just steady the roiling of her stomach when noblemen speak to her with fermented venom on their lips.

 _("Enjoy Dorne, my sweet. The Martells will treat you so very well.")_

Her welcome celebration lasts both a second and a decade. Afterwards, she spends some time exploring her new residence arm-in-arm with Arianne (Rhaenys makes a mental note of her uncle's solar during the tour she requested of her cousins). A young Quentyn and an even younger Trystane trail behind. The duo playfully take turns shoving each other into the shallow pools that line Sunspear's gardens, before an exasperated Sarella and Tyene yank them apart and haul them off to bed. This happens despite the boys' avid protestations that – at ten and seven years of age - they are "men" and too old to be put to bed by their cousins "like babes". Once the four of them and their ruckus finally fade away, it is just sixteen-year-old Arianne and fourteen-year-old Rhaenys (and a silent shadow, but she chooses to disregard that traitor).

Rhaenys feels guilty for being so glad at her youngest cousins' departure, but Trystane's overdramatic whining in response to Sarella's playful reprimanding was too close to too many personal memories of her own.

 _("No, Rhae, no! I don't see why I have to go meet all your lady friends, again. They always smell too flowery, and they always pat my head, and they always pinch my cheeks, and they always giggle too much, and they always_ _—_ _"_

 _"You'll know well enough later, Rickon. Just be polite, and endearing."_

 _"I'm always polite, and in-dah-ring!"_

 _"Oh? And pray tell, baby brother, what do—"_

 _"I'm NOT a baby! I am six! SIX!"_

 _"Well then. My 'six years of age' brother, what do you think_ en-dea-ring _means?"_

 _"Just so! It means being in. the. ring! Like in the courtyards, when the knights are ready to spar. Oh, oh, oh! Now that would be fun. Are we sparring with your friends today?"_

 _"In a sense.")_

Arianne rolls her eyes affectionately at the antics of her younger brothers, before she nudges Rhaenys away from the garden and towards their rooms.

"Come along, Rhaenys. Don't waste your time looking at these small pools. When I take you to the Water Gardens, _then_ you will have reason stare so dazedly."

Arianne continue to chatter endlessly about how glorious it will be to get to know each other – extolling promises to share only the most salacious of gossip, and vowing that they will embark upon an unbreakable bond of sisterhood. Rhaenys smiles warmly at the older girl's exuberance – not doubting that the two of them will become closer than sisters by the time her tenure in Dorne reaches its end. ' _It will be nice,'_ Rhaenys thinks wistfully, _'to have a true confidant again.'_

 _("You are banned from writing to each other.")_

She nearly frowns. _Will I forever hear his voice?_ A flash of wet grey eyes and she knows; so long as Rickon is held prisoner in that pit, neither will ever escape the King's words.

 _("Please don't leave me, Rhae. Please, please don't leave me. I'm scared. I don't want to stay here without you. I can't. Please. Please don't leave me here all alone.")_

Rhaenys gently extricates herself from her cousin, before the girl can discern the half-moon divots being carved into Rhaeny's palms. "I have a few words to share with Uncle Doran, but then I promise that I will join you once more in your rooms so we can return to our conversation. And continue to know each other better." Rhaeyns smiles to her cousin, easing the sting of the Targaryen's rather abrupt leave. Those false smiles are truly becoming second nature to her now.

 ** _{Perhaps she belongs in King's Landing after all?}_**

Arianne pouts childishly. The mischievous expression on the older girl's face reminds Rhaenys so poignantly of Rickon that she loses her breath. But her smile stays steady on the outside. _'I will not show anyone my weakness, not ever again.'_

 _("Learn your place.")_

Rhaenys approaches Doran's solar with her silent shadow. Ser Darry still hasn't spoken much since departing King's Landing, beyond the occasional mandatory "Your Grace," and Rhaenys finds herself okay with that (forces herself to be okay with that). After all, he is a knight sworn to the King first and foremost. It is a lesson she learned the hard way, and a lesson she will _never_ forget again.

 _("How badly do you want to be Queen?")_

The heavy door to the lord's solar is opened by one of the Dornish knights, a large and dark-skinned man who carries a fierce-looking halberd. _'Areo Hotah,'_ she recalls from the introductions. She thanks him by name, offering an especially kind smile. His mouth stays solemn, but she can just make out the easing of his harsh eyes as he finishes opening the doorway.

 ** _{Now she knows better how to recruit an army loyal only to her.}_**

When Rhaenys turns to face the shadow/traitor, her smile stays. She may learn slowly, but _she_ _learns_. She voices her command to him sweetly. "You may remain out here, Ser Darry." Not Ser Hairy, not anymore. Ser Hairy would have never let her father raise a hand to her. The man who held her while she sobbed as a child would have protected her with his life. Ser Hairy is dead. Or, more likely, Ser Hairy never existed at all. He was just the fanciful wish of naïve little girl who relied on others to keep her safe, a stupid little girl who cared too easily for people who never cared half as much for her.

 _'Not anymore.'_

Mayhaps she will warm towards her cousins and her uncles, but she will never let them into her heart. Not fully, not anyone, not ever again. The battered thing has just enough space for her and Rickon, some ghosts, and a cat with one ear.

(She feels so stupid for her earlier thoughts. What is to stop Aegon from seducing Arianne with a betrothal? How will her cousin's pretty-sounding 'sisterhood' stand versus a chance for power? If Rhaenys has learned only one lesson from King's Landing, it is that power always wins.)

 **{And there is power in a dead Queen's face.}**

Rickon is the exception; he would sooner carve out his own eyes than ever hurt her. The rest of that wretched place is a cesspool of liars _and backstabbers and sycophants and men idolizing a to-be-deposed King and her horrible would-be-kin-slaying brothers and why does she still feel the King's hand on her skin?_

 _("It'll be okay. I'll make it okay. But you have to listen to me very carefully. You have to do everything I say. Do you understand, Rickon?")_

Rhaenys steps inside the room gracefully, to meet the surprised brown eyes of Doran Martell. She seems to have interrupted the Lord Paramount's as he was sorting through the vast piles of papers heaped upon his desk. For all their towering, the documents seem well-kept.

 _("Rhaenys will be kept in the Maidenvault.")_

In her (frequent) nightmares, Ser Darry does nothing to help her as the King (not father, not _ever_ again) repeatedly takes what he sent her to the Maidenvault for. Every time he climbs astride her it is to the twisted background of _'Elia. Elia. Elia.'_ At the thought, she inadvertently brings her hand up to her neck, echoes of pain and disgust from an unwanted touch, an almost-reality. Then, she sharply rips her hand away. _'No weakness.'_ She commands herself sternly. _'Not ever again.'_

Rage thrums through her veins. But it is not un-tempered. Oh no, not at all. She has had weeks of travel to simmer, to channel the rage and hone it into something that will change the realm.

 _'You signed your death warrant, the moment you dared to threaten me.'_ She resolves with a straightened spine, her heart hardened.

 _("Please don't leave me here.")_

Because no one knows this, not even her traitorous shadow, but Rhaenys whispered dangerous words into her little brother's ear before she left the Keep. Not a soul but them will ever know the seditious seeds she carefully planted in his mind, the way his soft grey eyes steeled when she promised him…

 _"One day, Rickon."_

"Princess Rhaenys," her eldest uncle addresses with a warm smile. Then he meets her dark eyes, and perhaps he recognizes the volatile churning, because his casual voice turns concerned. "Is something wrong?"

 _("I will not have you conspiring together against the Crown.")_

* * *

 **the prince that is loved by all**

* * *

 _295 AC_

Despite the fact that Princess Rhaenys had left for Dorne just over a year ago, Ser Arthur Dayne keeps his word to Elia's daughter and continues to train the ten-year-old Prince Rickon as often as his schedule allows. Despite the princess's… _warnings_ … to the Kingsguard the night before she left, Arthur could technically stop these lessons. However, he finds himself incapable of it. The princess's departure had cost the boy his only shield. And by the time of her exit, Arthur had already grown too fond of the youngest prince to leave him without any means of defending himself in this nest of predators.

And truthfully, it is… pleasant. To have a student, a protégé, someone to whom Arthur can pass on his hard-earned knowledge. Someone that Arthur can watch grow with pride.

(Someone that Arthur can help raise.)

They have just finished another early morning practice session in one of the peripheral training yards of the Red Keep. Now, Arthur watches the royal boy clean his sword carefully. The young prince is patient with the blade. _'The way a true knight should be,'_ thinks Arthur with teeming pride. "Well done, Your Grace." He says, smiling warmly at the boy. "You're progressing at an outstanding pace. I haven't seen anyone take to swords so naturally since Jaime Lannister."

Rickon's cheeks flare red in the most endearing way, clearly embarrassed and delighted in equal measure. He brings a hand up to awkwardly scratch the back of his head and shyly smiles. "I think my improvement is more a credit to your teaching than my skill."

Ser Arthur laughs heartily and gives the boy an affectionate ruffle of his dark brown curls. The boy of ten playfully bats the knight's hand away.

"Truly, Rickon," Ser Arthur says gently. "I am impressed."

Rickon's gaze shoots down to his dirtied training boots, but Arthur can see the genuine grin that breaks out on the boy's mouth.

"I… I thank you for the praise, Ser Arthur. I hope to one day become worthy of it." The boy's cheeks are truly aflame now, the red spreading down his neck as well. The prince stumbles back into the courtesies that his sister no doubt taught him, likely because he is uncertain of how to respond to such commendation.

(After all, Arthur knows that Rickon is no longer used to such open praise, not since the King sent Princess Rhaenys away.)

At Arthur's raised brow, Rickon seems to shake off his lapse of insecurity. He returns to his usual rambunctious self, as he sheathes the blade and confidently hands the scabbard back to Arthur. Rickon offers a larger grin. "Thanks again for the training. I guess I'm off."

Arthur's hand on Rickon's shoulder foils the boy's attempt at a quick escape. The purple-eyed man's mouth quirks up as he teases his pupil. "Off to play at peasant again?"

Rickon bristles. "Hey! Those are my _friends_!"

Arthur sighs. "Just try not to make any trouble this time?" He entreats.

Rickon smirks, reminiscent of the way a young Rhaenys once did when she promised to stop climbing trees (which of course never happened). "I'm not a troublemaker, I'm a trouble- _chaser_. There is a distinct difference, Ser Arthur."

 _'That doesn't make any sense, you unruly boy,'_ Arthur thinks fondly. "Mhm." Arthur nods indulgently. The Sword of the Morning attempts to make his voice come out stern with his next words, but doubts he is able to cover all of his underlying amusement. "There is also a distinct difference between caution and carelessness."

Rickon snorts. "I'll be careful enough. The last thing I want is to waste any more time in Pycelle's Torture Room."

"I think you mean _Grand Maester_ Pycelle's _healing chambers."_

Rickon shrugs. "Agree to disagree, Ser Arthur."

Ser Arthur laughs deeply before mumbling out an affectionate "insouciant brat" and shooing Rickon away. "Whatever trouble you undoubtedly intend to incite, at least try not to get caught?"

"You'd be surprised at what I can get away with, Ser Arthur." Rickon drawls with a tight smile, before it curves into a playfully smug smirk. "I can be quick."

Ser Arthur swats the back of Rickon's head and gives the boy a genuinely stern look. "Which means nothing if you become overconfident."

Rickon nods seriously, a solemn look overtaking his eyes as his right hand comes to rest over his left upper arm, where Arthur knows a scar from an arrow lays under his tunic. "I don't think I'll ever be in danger of that." Rickon mumbles. "Not here."

( _"But I bet you both don't believe me. No one ever does."_ )

Arthur frowns, his gut twisting at the thought of the arrow-made wound. Arthur doubts that scarring afternoon will ever leave him.

"Once more."

Rickon looks up at Arthur's curt words. The prince's grey eyes widen in a mixture of confusion and gratefulness. And yet, despite the offer for more training, the boy's smile stays buried. _'Buried under the past, under memories of how his own family is capable of hurting him_.'

( _"I don't care! He never talks to me or looks at me, but even he should care if Aegon could have killed me! I'm his son too!"_ )

Arthur's frown deepens as that afternoon continues to replay in his mind. "One more spar, and then you may leave."

Rickon nods, clearly still confused, but raises his sword.

(Arthur understands the lad's puzzlement. Rickon doesn't understand that Arthur blames himself for many things; that Arthur needs some form of reassurance that he will not awake one morning to castle's servants whispering that his playful, rambunctious, unruly, endearingly petulant, and _innocent_ student has been slain by another of the royal family. If not for their lack of trying, then at least, for Rickon's skill in defending himself.)

At some point during the spar, Rickon's smile returns.

When they finish, Rickon is on the ground heaving for air and drenched in sweat. Of course, Rickon has never won a spar against the Sword of the Morning (not yet). But he is taking longer and longer to lose. Arthur nods at Rickon approvingly. The prince grins back.

"You did well." Arthur says. "I'll clean the blade so you aren't too late to meet with your friends. But," Arthur's eyes narrow. "No mischief."

Rickon slowly climbs up onto his feet and nods solemnly, mimicking the severity of a septon. "I will not actively seek out any new mischief, I promise."

A pause.

There are so many obvious loopholes in that vow, that Arthur and Rickon both snort before the latter bursts into carefree chuckles.

(It's easier to laugh over little things, than to address the horrible things. Things like how Rickon got that scar on his arm, and why Ser Arthur trains him so diligently.)

Arthur's own escaped laughter tapers as Rickon races off, excited to converse with the smallfolk and find trouble with his motley band of misfits in Flea Bottom. "Tomorrow at dawn!" Arthur yells at Rickon's back. "Don't be late!" He adds, even though Rickon never is. "And get some breakfast in you, too!"

Rickon waves a hand to show he heard the instructions, just before he turns the corner and his northern form leaves Arthur's sight.

With Rickon gone, Arthur is now alone in the training area. His gaze shifts up to meet the burning light of the sun. It is not so glaring as the Dornish one, but blazing in a different way. Arthur briefly wonders how the princess is doing back in his and Elia's homeland. _'She will have adapted well,'_ he thinks _. 'She is stronger and smarter than anyone knows.'_

Arthur frowns, once again remembering Princess Rhaenys's warning from her final night in the Keep. The princess had been ruthless in her reprimand of both him and Lewyn the very moment she left Rickon's room after having put the grief-stricken prince to sleep. Apparently, per recounts from his other brother-in-arms', she had done the same with all the Kingsguard members. He remembers her harsh words clearly, her blatant threats, and the darkening bruise on her cheek even more so. He never had a chance to ask Jonathor about what happened in the Maidenvault before the man left the Keep with his charge. Then again, if the blackness in the princess's gaze was any indication, perhaps it was best that Arthur didn't know. One less thing to mull over, one less confirmation that the Rhaegar he once knew and admired is gone.

 _("Are you so ambitious for your brother's crown?")_

That night in the throne room – after foiling Rhaenys and Rickon's attempt at escape – had been… jarring. In more ways than one. He still remembers the betrayal in Rickon's eyes as he held the boy back when Rhaegar harshly gripped Rhaenys. He also remembers loosening his grip in shock the moment he realized Rhaegar meant to _strike_ his _daughter_. _Elia's_ daughter.

 _("You run away to support the prince that is loved by all, usurp your brother, the rightful heir. Treason.")_

Not for the first time, Arthur muses on Rhaegar's accusations.

Rickon has been well-liked by the small folk and nobles since his birth.

 _'Humans are fickle with their affections.'_ Arthur grouses as he thinks on Prince Jon. Lyanna Stark's older son: the one who the smallfolk and nobles alike despised. In their minds, Jon symbolized the affair that their Realm bled for, while Rickon did what they could not and disposed of a hated monarch. In their minds, Rickon's birth was an act of the Gods – a "just" punishment for the woman they heatedly remember as the "Duty-Dodger" Queen.

But, of course, it is Rickon who made himself well- _loved_ instead of just well- _liked_.

He is friendly with the small folk. The boy often uses Rhaegar's neglect and consequent lack of royal responsibilities to meander around Flea Bottom and other areas of King's Landing. He uses that time to befriend the smiths on the Street of Steel, the dyers and the bakers, the tavern workers and the dock workers, and word has it, apparently even the smugglers.

And then there were the nobles. The nobles _adore_ Princess Rhaenys, who is beautiful and charming and elegant and graceful ( _'just like Elia had been'_ ). The nobles love Princess Rhaenys, and Rhaenys was absolute in her love for Rickon. There is no doubt in Arthur's mind (now, at least) that the girl had used her unending time with the noble ladies to gush over the adorable antics of her youngest brother, endearing him to them through her stories. _'Protecting Rickon, both subtly and overtly. Cunning. More so than anyone ever expected from gentle Elia's daughter.'_

Even among the knights of the city, Rickon is well-respected. Despite being Arthur's pupil, and his reputation as a burgeoning protégé, Rickon never wastes an opportunity to seek out instruction. He is eager to learn from anyone. _'Just like how Jaime once was.'_

In truth, Rickon is good at burrowing his way into the heart of everyone he meets. _'Well, everyone except the male royals.'_ Arthur thinks bitterly.

So, in a convulted way, Arthur understands Rhaegar's suspicions.

 _'It is too easy to see Rickon with a crown on his head.'_

\- And in the shadows, Rhaenys with a hand's pin and a pretty smile, slowly poking holes into her father's reign. After all, no _true_ player believes the King to be the one in power. Oh no. -

 _'The one who controls the King, controls Westeros.'_

And Rickon Targaryen would do anything for his sister…

Perhaps even plot for a crown he doesn't want.

 _("You'd be surprised at what I can get away with, Ser Arthur.")_

* * *

 **Parading around the alleys of Flea bottom with a guise of no wealth is easy and fun**

 **-x-**

 **(it takes him too long to realize that he treats their squalor like a pageant)**

* * *

Balerion joins Rickon mere moments after the prince escapes Ser Arthur's skeptical gaze. Rickon grins at his furry companion. "Eager to see the streets again too, huh, Bal?"

The duo casually makes their way towards the nearest entrance to the tunnelways below the Red Keep. It takes a few turns, but eventually Rickon reaches one of his hidden clothing stashes. Ever since he started his secret escapades, he had made sure to always leave a bundle of dirty clothes to wear through the streets, along with a couple of coins. It was easy enough to station them strategically once he grew more comfortable with the tunnels. Rickon quickly changes from his dirtied royal training garb into something even dirtier, and even rubs some dust onto his cheeks, before he and Bal sneak out of the Red Keep _. 'Rhae would probably roll her eyes at my clothes.'_ He thinks with a budding smile, before he forcibly stops the thought because it hurts too much to think about her.

 _("It doesn't matter what you feel. Rhaenys will leave for Dorne at dawn.")_

"Hmm." Rickon examines the sun's position in the sky _. 'It's not even near midday yet_ ,' he thinks with a contemplative frown. "Everyone will still be working for a couple hours still. Maybe we should hang out by the docks for a while." Rickon rubs his jaw. "Maybe Griff is about?" Rickon turns down to see an entirely unaffected cat. He nudges his companion playfully. "Well? Say something if you disagree, Bal, or I'm taking your silence for acceptance."

Balerion gives Rickon a decidedly unimpressed look.

.x.

As Rickon strolls along the Hook towards Fishmonger's Square, the young prince dressed as a pauper finds himself accompanied by both his cat and his thoughts.

 _'Mayhaps it is a good thing that I hate the Keep so much.'_ He ponders. After all, if the King and the other princes' presences were bearable, then he would have never started exploring the tunnels. He had used them since he was five to hide from his supposed family whenever Rhae left for her lady duties, and he had lost himself within the winding paths for weeks while he grieved Rhae's departure.

 _("You ripped through my happiness, and now I send away yours.")_

Moreover, without the tunnels, Rickon would have never had such unfettered access to start his frequent trips through the streets of King's Landing. He would have never met the ensemble of friends he has now. And what a band of misfits they all were. There was a prince playing at pauper. There was Gendry, the apprentice at Mott's shop ("The only smith worth the steel," per Gendry's loyal adverts). The black-haired apprentice likes to pretend to be gruff, but Rickon suspects that almost thirteen-year-old Gendry is secretly the softest of them all. Then there is Griff, a fourteen-year-old Essosi trader's son. Griff doesn't actually know the rest of the lads, since he is usually limited to the trading docks by his father. Then there is Lommy, a dyer's son who looks more like a girl, and didn't appreciate Rickon pointing it out back when they first met. (They became especially fast friends.) Then there is Easel, the innkeeper's daughter, who Lommy _affectionately_ calls Weasel, much to the thirteen-year-old girl's annoyance. There is even an eleven-year-old baker's boy who calls himself Hot Pie, could you believe it? _Hot Pie_.

 ** _{"Misfits without Mothers" – that's what Old Man Osim called you lot two days ago, remember?}_**

 _('A stupid, wrong name.' Ten-year-old Rickon had seethed with wet eyes in the dark twists of the tunnels, after he returned to the Keep that evening. 'I have a mother; she was just sent away. But she'll come back for me, she promised. And Rhae always keeps her promises.')_

Rickon ignores his past murky thoughts. Instead, he focuses on the hours leading up to stupid big-mouthed, cranky Osim's words. Before the old man's stupid words, Rickon was at The Lattice – one of the only taverns that tolerated himself and his fellow under-aged friends.

.x.

 _The moment he enters the Lattice, a lithe arm throws itself around his shoulders._

 _"Well, well. If it ain't my fav'rite runaway royal!" Whispers Easel, as_ _the tavern girl_ _ruffles Rickon's hair._

 _The prince scowls. "Not my hair!" He playfully bats away her hands. Easel merely responds by chuckling before leaving to tend to one of the beckoning patrons. She tosses out a half-hearted warning to "stay away from the ale" as she turns away. The well-intentioned almost-threat is…_

 _'It's exactly what Rhaenys would do, if she were here'._

 _The painful reminder nearly swallows Rickon's jovial mood, before he forcibly pushes it away, and stalks towards a table occupied by a pair of familiar faces. He exaggeratedly rolls his eyes as he approaches his companions before grumbling out a greeting. "I can't wait until I'm taller than her. Why does everyone always have to pat my hair?"_

 _"Gods, you spend too much time with Lommy." Snorts the typically gruff voice of Gendry, as the smith's apprentice munches on some bread._

 _"Hey! It ain't no crime to care about lookin' good!" says an affronted Lommy, who is seated right across from Gendry. Rickon smiles as he pulls up onto the bench next to the twelve-year-old dyer, who is working his way through a bowl of brown._

 _"Care about yer looks, eh?" Easel pops up from behind, in her typically unpredictable way. Rickon's gaze pays particularly close attention to the tray on her arm, which supports a wobbling haphazard pile of empty dishes, just one whisper away from finding a new home on_ his _head. "Try wipin' up those grubby green paws of yers, then." Easel sneers as she whacks Lommy's offending hands with a used ladle that she pulls off the precariously perched platter. (Rickon really doesn't appreciate the way her action makes the leaning tower of dishes angle even closer to him). "The same ones which be leavin' bits of dried dye on my Pa's tables. Mess that he be makin' me to clean up!"_

 _Lommy puffs out his chest and brings his hands up in pride. "These are 'cause of my skills. They're a…" Lommy frowns, thinking of how to convey his thoughts._

 _"A badge of your trade?" Rickon offers._

 _"Ya!" Lommy nods emphatically. "What Rick said! And you should be respecting your customers, yuh know, Weasel! Or we'll be taking our business to… to… to The Cony instead! Ya, to the Cony!"_

 _Rickon can't help but snort at that 'threat'. It's well known amongst their group that the only reason The Lattice even tolerates their under-aged, non-ale drinking selves is because apparently the innkeeper had been friends with Lommy's late mother. And, of course, because the man was Easel's father._

 _Easel rolls her eyes and makes sure to smack Lommy's hands once more – even harder – with the ladle, just because she can, before strutting back to the kitchen with her miraculously upright tray. Lommy yanks his hands away and lets out a rather high-pitched, "eat mud, Weasel!"_

 _She just tosses him a select finger over her shoulder, much to Gendry and Rickon's amusement._

 _Within seconds, the ragged cloth covering the Lattice's entrance is shoved aside once more, to reveal a familiar hefty form lumbering towards the seated trio._

 _"Rick!" Exclaims a cheerful Hot Pie, as he plops down next to Gendry. "How's it?! Been too long! Much too long!"_

 _Rickon barely holds back a snicker as the annoyed smith's apprentice shoves his bread away from Hot Pie's straying hands. "Well enough, I suppose." Rickon shrugs._

 _Hot Pie being Hot Pie, needs no prompting to continue the conversation. "Since I last seen you, I got this new bread recipe I tried at the bakery. You gott'a try some! The trick is to batter the dough with—"_

 _"Ain't no one care about yer bakery's bread, Pie!" Lommy cuts in with a long-suffering eye roll._

 _"Well you wasn't saying that when I gave ya a batch the other day, huh, were ya!"_

 _"Speaking of bread, how about keeping away from mine, Hot Pie." Grumbles Gendry as he once more plucks his bread roll out of Hot Pie's hand. Hot Pie makes a wounded sound, and Gendry being Gendry, sighs loudly before shoving half a roll back to a pleased Hot Pie._

 _Rickon's stomach decides to join the banter, and lets out a loud growl. The table is quiet just for a moment, before the four boys descend into a round of deep, belly-aching laughter. Then it's Gendry's turn to roll his eyes, as the apprentice tosses his last half of bread at Rickon._

 _Laughs and insults flow easily between the four boys. Throughout it all, the three boys from Fleabottom call him Rick, the initial alias the prince had used when meeting them all those many months ago, despite the three now knowing his true name._

 _Despite them now knowing they sit at the same table as a prince._

 _'And wasn't that a story? How we first met? How they learned my true name? How annoyingly long it took to get Gendry to stop bowing and looking to the ground and calling me 'yer grace' back when-'_

 _Lommy pulls Rickon out of his memories and back into the table's conversation._

 _"So, Pie, did yuh know Rick fancies himself a knight nowadays?"_

 _"Really?!" Hot Pie's eyes widen, the exclamation sending drops of recently ordered stew from the baker's mouth onto Gendry's exposed forearm. Hot Pie shrugs (somewhat) apologetically towards the disgusted smith (who is dramatically wiping his spittle-covered arm on the table), before Hot Pie returns his eager gaze back to Rickon."A knight?" Hot Pie stuffs another bit of bread (Rickon's, this time) into his mouth, expression contemplative. He looks ready to open his mouth to talk, but a stern look from Gendry has the now abashed baker pointedly swallowing before he speaks. "A knight, wow… 'cause you've got armour now, right?"_

 _Gendry groans loudly. "We've talked about this, Hot Pie."_

 _At Hot Pie's clueless look, there is a loud smack as Gendry's palm hits his forehead. Lommy pinches the bridge of his nose, while Rickon laughs so hard his eyes start to tear._

 _He's glad he hates the Keep. He found his true brothers in the streets._

.x.

Back to the present time, Rickon and Bal make it to the docks by Fishmonger's Square easily. Bal trails loyally beside Rickon as the incognito prince casually browses through the stands. Rickon beams as he breathes in the smell of salt and fresh fish and spices from around the world. He meanders around all the merchants arguing over prices in different languages, and jests with a couple of hecklers who he is familiar with. He almost passes by one of the smaller stalls – though stall is an exceedingly generous term. A young boy with ruddy hair and an older man with a ruddy face show off their oysters, no doubt collected from the edges of Blackwater Bay. The boy is thin and tall, similar to his father, with disproportionately long limbs and fingers. The boy – who appears probably two or three years younger than himself – smiles at Rickon with some missing teeth. Rickon smiles back before offering some coin to buy a handful of oysters.

He walks a couple of metres down the bay before catching up to his furry companion (which is a rare thing – Rickon usually lets Bal wander where he may, never bothering to chase him down). Rickon kneels to offer a piece of his breakfast to Balerion, who bristles in indignation before turning away from the sticky shell.

"Picky, picky." Rickon chastises, before impishly flicking the cat's sole ear and swallowing the salty meat between the rejected shunned shell.

"Rick! Bal!"

Rickon rises and turns with a bright smile towards the familiar voice. "Griff!" He greets back.

The older boy runs up to Rick and they meet arms.

"How have you been?" Rickon asks.

"Good, good." Griff's smile broadens, as bright as the blue tips of his hair. "My step-mum just told us I'm due for another sibling some months from now."

"That's great, Griff. Tell her and your dad I say congratulations. Your brothers as well." Rickon smirks. "I'm sure they're excited for another brother to shove around."

Griff snorts. "I think I've had enough of rowdy little brothers." He smiles. "I kind of want a sister this time, you know? Not that I don't love the rest of them. But…"

Rickon stills and cannot hear the rest of Griff's words. He knows Griff didn't mean to mention sisters, didn't mean to pour salt into a wound that still gapes a year after her departure. Griff is from Braavos – a well-learned boy from a fairly well-to-do trader. He's the only one of his immediate group of friends who doesn't yet know that Rick from Flea Bottom is truly Prince Rickon Targaryen. And so, Griff does not know that Rickon has a sister who was hurt and sent away because she tried to protect him, and does not know that Rickon has a sister who he would die for. Rickon cannot stop the barrage of memories now. Rhae, showing him how to climb. Rhae, introducing him to Sam. Rhae, demanding Ser Arthur teach him swordplay. Rhae, defending him against Aegon and Jon and the King.

Rhae, the only person who ever loved him. ( _"I will not leave you here alone."_ )

Rhae, his best friend who was ripped away from him ( _"Promise me, Rickon. Promise me."_ )

Rickon's smile grows tight. "Ya, I hear sisters are the best."

 _("This is a secret between us, Rickon. You cannot ever tell a soul, do you understand me?"_ )

Rickon's fists clench as he remembers the bruise on her cheek from that night. As he remembers the pallor of her skin when the Maester said she would die in that godsforsaken bed.

 _'They hurt her. They hurt her. They hurt her. How dare they lay a hand on-'_

"Rick!" Griff's hand on his shoulder shakes Rickon from his memories. Griff's brow furrows in concern. "You all right, mate?"

( _"One day, Rickon."_ )

 _'I will be.'_ Rickon smiles, forces his fists to unclench. "I am. Sorry, I was stuck in my head. What were you saying about—"

"Help! Someone, anyone, please help!" A stranger's wails steal the attention of both Rickon and Griff. "My dad! Help, please!"

Rickon and Griff race towards the yelling, where a small crowd already gathers. Rickon and Griff push their way through, and Rickon is surprised to recognize the person who was crying out.

 _'It's the boy from before,'_ Rickon realizes as he looks upon the redhead. He looks to the ground beside the boy, where his father is collapsed, one hand holding his chest and his breathing laboured.

Rickon steps forward. "We need to take him to a maester."

The boy looks at Rickon, confused before his eyes start tearing more. "We ain't no money fer one."

Rickon frowns, confused. _'People pay for maesters?'_ The man on the ground gives another laboured groan and Rickon decides that his stray thought is a contemplation for another time. "I'll pay for it. Griff, you and two others need to help me take him and his father to the nearest maester."

Griff comes up, as do two volunteers from the crowd. Rickon addresses the crowd. "Where is the nearest Maester?" The prince is further confused when the crowd seems to have no clue, looking at him as if he has grown another head. Rickon grimaces when he hears another pain-filled moan from the man who is being hoisted up by Griff and the two volunteers from the still-growing crowd.

Rickon runs a hand through his matted hair, remembering Ser Arthur's laments about Rickon always finding trouble. He decides that maybe Ser Arthur is onto something after all. "Griff, I need you all to carry the man towards the Keep. Follow along the Hook, the right side of it. I'll run ahead to get a maester and bring him to meet you. Don't swerve off the Hook, or I won't be able to find you when I come back."

Griff, the boy, and the other two men nod.

.x.

Samwell jumps out of his seat with a unfortunately high-pitched squeal when Rickon barges into the Maester's Library, dressed in rags and gulping for air. "Rickon?! Wha—"

"You need to come with me, now." Rickon interrupts, chest heaving from exertion. "A man collapsed at Fishmonger's Square."

For all of Sam's infamous blundering, he is razor focused when it comes to the matters of others' wellbeing. "Tell me what happened?"

Rickon tells Sam what he knows as quickly as he can while trying to catch his breath, and Sam quickly gathers some tools before following Rickon through a set of tunnels.

Sam follows Rickon's quick pace, clearly trying his best to keep up. When they pass by one of the larger openings with a dozen or so branching hallways, Rickon has to pull a shell-shocked Sam out of his stupor. "Rickon, are you sure you know where we're going?"

Rickon bristles, and Sam admits that perhaps the question was poor form. " _Yes_. I know these tunnels like the back of my hand." (How can he not? They have been his favoured hiding place for years) "Now _come on._ "

Sam nods and follows the prince, who now sets an even faster pace, out of the tunnels and onto the streets. They follow along the Hook until they see a red-haired man being carried by Griff, the two volunteers, and his teary-faced son.

Sam immediately takes charge, instructing the men to take his patient to the side of the path. They've gathered a bit of a crowd from the street, but Sam ignores it while examining the sickly man. Rickon even recognizes more than one of the viewers from the docks, and wonders exactly how many have followed to see the end of this adventure. Rickon frowns, noting that the man is now sweating and his breathing has grown even more laboured. The red-haired boy seems to notice his father's decline as well, and shudders before wiping some of the wet snot from his face.

 **{How sad, another orphan in the making. And as always, you are useless as the people around you suffer.}**

Sam seems to have discerned the cause of the man's illness, because he nods to himself before shuffling through his box of Maester items. He quickly pulls out some sort of sharpened cannula. Sam instructs one of the volunteers to clean the man's chest with the wine from the other volunteer's belt. Then, Sam raises the needle, seeming intent on stabbing the man in the chest with it.

"NO!" Screams the redheaded boy, as he makes to lunge at Sam. Rickon stops the younger boy easily, holding him back with a firm grip. Sam turns to them, and Rickon nods. "Sam is the smarted person I know." He soothes the boy, loudly and clearly enough that the crowd can hear. "If he thinks this will save your father, I believe him."

The boy settles at Rickon's words. Seeing this, Rickon removes his arms from the boy's, and instead places a firm hand on his shoulder, looking the redhead right in the eye. "It will be okay."

And perhaps Rickon has no right to make that promise, perhaps it could be considered bating the Gods, but he trusts Sam almost as much as he trusts Rhae.

The needle sharp cannula pierces the man's chest, and the man gasps. Then, as though a miracle from the Gods, the man breathes and his body relaxes.

"I can breathe." He says hoarsely, weakly. He turns to Sam. "You… you saved me."

The Tarly boy smiles, blushing at the praise. "Not without the help of the rest of these good men."

"Father!" The boy yells out in relieved and unfettered glee, before quickly leaving Rickon's loosened grip to tightly hold his father's hand. "Thank you, milord maester sir. Thank you! Thank you!" His eyes are bright as he looks at a sheepish Sam, and then the redhead looks towards Rickon with such bright gratitude that Rickon is breathless.

Sam smiles at Rickon. "Nicely done, Your Grace. I—" Sam flinches as he stops himself.

Rickon's shoulders slump, and he internally groans. _'Oh, Sam.'_

Not for the first time Rickon bemoans Sam's reflexive descent into formal address when surrounded by others. For half a second, he hopes that no one has heard, but of course the entire crowd is watching with rapt attention and listening with sensitized ears, including Sam's newest patient and the red-haired boy. The boy's look is now one of absolute reverence.

" _You're_ the _prince_?" He asks in awe.

.x.

Of course, once the crowd realizes that Prince Rickon Targaryen is amongst them, they clamour for his attention. Rickon does his best to talk to them all, and tries to redirect their praises to Sam, Griff, and the two volunteers. Rickon, of course, has to voice his own apology to a dumbfounded Griff. The shocked blue-haired boy tries to bow before Rickon smacks him upside the head and tells him quietly, but genuinely, that "friends don't bow."

Griff grins before shaking his head. "I always knew you spoke too well for a street kid, but I never expected _this._ "

Sam explains to his patient (whose name Rickon now knows to be Dale) and his son (Davon) that the condition called _pneumothorax_ was common among men of their build. While Sam describes what to do if it ever happens again, how to balance the air for their lungs by letting it escape in between certain ribs, Rickon uses the moment to take the two volunteers to the side. He offers a genuine thank you to the two men who helped bring the patient along the Hook with Griff.

The two volunteers give him an odd sort of look, almost measuring, before introducing themselves as Anguy and Thoros. They share a meaningful look amongst themselves, before Thoros speaks. "Should you ever need assistance, my Prince, know that the Brotherhood will come to your aid."

Rickon tilts his head, confused. "The Brotherhood?"

"Aye," smirks Anguy. "Just a group of riff-raff who like to run around training in the forest. Started up during the last war." He continues. "Nothing formal or the like, but we've a few sharp eyes, well-aimed bows, and quick blades if you ever find yourself in need."

 _("We will need allies, Rickon.")_

.x.

By the time Rickon and Sam start to make their way back to the imposing spires of the Keep, it is dusk and Sam has apologized about a hundred times.

"It's fine Sam," Rickon responds for the hundred-and-first time. He cuts off Sam's next deluge of apologies with a question. "They said they have to pay for maesters." Rickon frowns, voicing his prior concerns. "The people at the docks didn't even know where the nearest one was."

Sam nods, his expression somber. "Rickon, you and I both had the luxury and privilege to grow up in castles, which came with maesters at our beck and call. But these people, they don't live in castles. Honestly, there are many who probably don't even have a home at all."

"So who do they go to when they get sick?"

Sam shrugs, uncertain. "I suppose they try to take care of themselves. If they're lucky, they live near the Sept where the priests or silent sisters sometimes give a certain degree of care, though I'm not sure how well they are trained."

Rickon scowls, thinking of how such a circumstance almost made an orphan today.

(A boy without a father is a tragic thing, something both Rickon and Sam know too well)

"That isn't right," Rickon fumes.

Sam looks at the ground, with a grim gaze. "No. No, it really isn't."

.x.

Rickon feels guilty. He had used Flea bottom as an escape for years. He had treated their conditions as a… as a _novelty_. All this time and he didn't register that while he returned to his amenities in the Keep, they continued to live in true destitution.

They _died_ in destitution.

Rickon's face crumples in shame. _'I treated their squalor like some pageant, one which I could dress up for, then leave whenever it was convenient.'_

The next time he goes to King's Landing to visit his friends, he asks them what they _need._ The fact that their list ("food", "houses", "maesters", "less shit on the streets") comes out so easily and with little prodding makes Rickon feel worse. _'How did I never think to ask before?'_

Rickon has to prioritize, of course, based on what he can actually accomplish. The first thing he does is use part of his own royal funds to start up a free community clinic once a week in Flea Bottom. Sam volunteers to serve in it. It surprises Rickon immensely when Maester Tarot also offers his services. Rickon is hesitant to trust the creepy man with the rippled chain, the one who (per Rhae), was instructed to let Rickon die for his gender so his infamous mother would live.

 _("I chose your mother, and yet you breathe while she does not.")_

Unfortunately, the people don't have the luxury of Rickon declining the questionable maester's services for a personal grievance, and so Rickon bites his tongue and begrudgingly thanks the man with a rigid smile.

.x.

Rickon doesn't plan for his sponsorship of the clinic to be advertised, but somehow every peasant and noble learns of it.

(They hear about his involvement through the twittering of little birds, but Rickon won't realize that until many years later.)

* * *

 **She is a collector of secrets.**

 **And for all the hushed whispers about Prince Aegon, she suspects Prince Jon might be just as terrible.**

* * *

After the arrow incident and the princess's removal, Prince Rickon Targaryen spends most of his time either in the courtyard training with Ser Dayne and the other knights, or in the streets of King's Landing wandering alongside his lowborn companions. It's unsurprising. Why shouldn't the youngest royal spend time with people who love him in all the ways his remaining family members don't?

Or so Wren thinks.

It is now a year and a half since Princess Rhaeny's departure. Wren knows, because it was just two years ago that she started her side services as a little bird to the Master of Whispers. After all, she is small and slight and quiet and plain-faced. Wren is the perfect shadow (even if she isn't the perfect cleaning wench). So she sees things and hears things, while staying unknown and unnoticed.

Invisible, she sees Prince Aegon's envy as he watches from an upper walkway as ten-year-old Rickon spars in the yard below, the other knights impressed as they cheer on the little Prince when he faces off against a squire. Ser Dayne, obviously, seems bubbling with pride.

She sees the way the eldest Prince's eyes narrow when Rickon _wins._

She hears him order Prince Jon to challenge Rickon, to "remind him of his place."

She sees Rickon _beat_ Jon, and watches the fury build in Aegon's eyes.

She hears the foreboding silence amongst the men, when Aegon challenges Rickon next.

She sees Ser Lewyn Martell attempt to distract Aegon with sparring against himself instead.

And of course, when Rickon astutely declines the heir's challenge, she hears Aegon taunt him about his dead mother.

("A coward for sure, just like your whore mother. A lifelong regret of mine; not being the one to send her to the Seven Hells. That credit belongs to you, perhaps the only usefulness you ever had.")

 _'He's clueless,'_ bemoans Wren, _'to think Prince Rickon will interpret an insult to his mother as an insult to Lyanna Stark.'_

Then she – along with the entire courtyard – sees Rickon stiffen, turn, raise his blade, and _beat_ Aegon in their spar with brutal effectiveness that has even Wren backing from the pillar she leant behind.

 _'The boy is not yet eleven, is he truly so lethal already?'_

That afternoon, she hears the whispers alight amongst the court as they spread the hottest gossip like kindling. "Did you hear? The crown prince beaten in sparring by his _youngest_ brother! A boy of _ten._ "

Later in the evening, she hears Jon knock on Rickon's chambers. "I hear you know the tunnels well?"

 _'Naïve boy, don't you dare follow the lure into such an obvious trap.'_

Wren sighs when the foolish child gives a tentative smile and follows Jon. The arrow incident taught him to stop trusting Aegon, but clearly did not completely erase his trust in his other brother. Or perhaps the youngest prince is really that desperate for the affection of his only full sibling? Especially now, with the princess long gone. Wren suspects someone will be dispatched to kill the princess sooner or later. Why else would the King have sent her away? Then again, with how much the North must hate Targaryens (not to mention betrothing the girl to a man who was the grandson of Hoster Tully and the namesake of the rebeller), perhaps the King is waiting for her intended to beat her and humiliate her first. Actually no, Wren bets the King will wait until the princess bears her husband a spare. It is easy to hide an assassination under the guise of childbirth. A simple lip of poison in between blood weeping and wails ricocheting off chamber walls.

Wren is good at compartmentalization. She is good at dissociation, good at keeping emotional distance from the acts she sees and the acts she hears (it is a necessary adaption for little birds serving in this predator-infested jungle).

And yet…

Even she cannot withstand the stench of burning flesh, as Prince Jon and Prince Aegon _brand_ their little brother. The young boy's wails echo in the tunnels, and her gut churns. She staves the bile creeping up her throat only because fear for her life outweighs her disgust. What would the older princes do to her if they discover the audience to their despicable act, given what they already do to their own _blood_.

In between Rickon's sobs, she hears every one of Aegon's grievances towards the boy.

"Rhaenys was sent away because of you – _you ruin everything_. You took her away from me when you were born and now you've had her sent away too."

"You're nothing but a bastard. Not a single Targaryen feature. You even burn. Why do you think father hates you so? Your whore mother cuckolded him, and he's too obsessed with the Dodger trollop to see you hang for it."

"Remember your place, bastard."

Young Rickon screams until he whimpers, and then there is silence.

 _'He screamed until he passed out,'_ realizes Wren, as she struggles to contain her nausea.

"Might as well leave him be." It's the first she's heard Jon speak since Rickon started wailing. "He'll get up sooner or later. No use wasting anymore of our time."

Perhaps Aegon agrees, as Wren hears two sets of footsteps leave the tunnels, thankfully in the direction opposite of where she hides.

When she is absolutely certain that the depraved duo are gone, she slowly approaches the prone form of the youngest prince _. 'So naïve. Mayhaps this time, it is a lesson you will remember.'_ Her own eyes burn as she examines the angry and ugly wound below his left knee. The child's quiet breaths come out in wounded, abrupt gasps.

She wonders which of his brother's held him down, and which held the burning blade to his leg.

(She notices that Rickon never walks without his own blade ever again. _'At least he learned,'_ she thinks woefully.)

She never quite forgets the sounds of his screams.

.x.

* * *

 **Jon doesn't realize it then, but one day in the future, when he finally reads buried words, this will be the day he regrets the most.**

* * *

 _In the end, it is steadfast Balerion who finds Rickon and attempts to coax the prince awake. It is Balerion who finds Sam, and urges the maester into the tunnels, to help the boy escape his crypt._

 _("I promise, Lya. I promise.")_

 _But no, you see, perhaps that isn't quite right. There was a bird who saw and who heard, and who ran towards a cat and a spider the moment the predators left their carcass._

 _"They called him bastard, said that was why he burned when they pressed the blade onto him," whispered the bird to the spider._

* * *

 ** _"I bet_** **things would'a been better had Robert the Wronged won."**

* * *

 _298 AC_

Tansy, proud owner of the Peach, is thrilled that the Red Keep is hosting another tourney. Her business is always bolstered by the many Westerland and Riverland knights stopping by her establishment while on their way to the Goldroad. An influx of knights with deep pockets eagerly seeking a break from their horses and longing for feminine company.

The inn is currently bustling with drunken patrons and her dazzling peaches, but Tansy still easily overhears one of her girl's at the nearest table. Alyce, a buxom girl with a tenacity as fiery as her hair, is chatting with a pair of Riverland knights.

The redhead slowly trails her hand up the armoured arm of the taller of the two knights as she coyly inquires, "So, where're you _fine_ Sers headin'?"

The taller one looks beguiled by her pretty smile, too enchanted to speak. His shorter friend clocks the back of his head, and laughs before answering Alyce. "Heading to King's Landing for Prince Jon's nameday celebrations. Same direction that I imagine these fellows-" (here the shorter knight makes a grand sweep of his arms, which wobble with the weight of liquor) "-are headed. There's to be a tourney."

Alyce tilts her head, playing at interested despite knowing the answers to all the questions she asks ( _'Drunk men tell all the same tales,'_ Tansy thinks with a snort.) "Prince Jon, is that the Targaryen son of the Wrecker Queen or the Stark son of hers?" she inquires, while signalling one of the Peach's serving girls to refill both mens' cups.

Both knights bark out loud, deep laughs. The taller finally finds his voice, which turns out to be more grizzly than his companion's. " _Stark_ son is right. I hear the Second Queen's younger boy has not a single Targaryen feature. Not one at all."

The shorter one continues. "Aye, I saw them both at the last tourney. The elder of the Wrecker Queen at least had the King's eyes, even his fair skin. And I even heard he was prone to the same bouts of melancholy the King was at his age. The younger lad though, he is _all northern_ : brown hair, grey eyes, blunt words, and burgeoning broad build." He takes a big gulp of his newly refilled ale tankard before continuing. "They even say he spars as northerners do – all brutal efficiency and the like. Heard from the other knights on our way over that the boy apparently is able to beat either of his _older_ brothers in a spar. I won't believe that 'till I see it with my own eyes though. The youngest can't be what, more than twelve years? Why, he's still green as grass."

Alyce nods, as if the shorter knight has imparted her with some great words of wisdom. She curls a finger by her pouting lips, her brows slightly furrowing as she wonders aloud in an aimless voice, "Hmm... How does a King love trueborn sons that come from two different mothers?"

The shorter one snorts. "I hear the King paid none but his daughter any mind, and even that is probably out of guilt given the princess's resemblance to Queen Elia."

The taller knight grows a bit quieter, and Tansy has to strain a bit to hear his gruff voice over the cacophony of the other patrons. "I hear the King completely ignores his youngest, has ignored him since the lad was a babe. Blames him for the death of the Second Queen. Some say the King doubts the boy is even his, but doesn't name him bastard out of respect for the boy's mother."

"What about Queen Elia's son - what have you heard about the heir?" Alyce frowns. "I hear some… whispers…" she trails off.

"Aye," the taller knight replies, though both knights' expressions darken. "I bet we've all heard the same."

Alyce sneers. "Targaryen madness, the lot of them. _I bet_ things would'a been better had Robert the Wronged won, and the Wrecker Queen did us all the favour o' dying in the birthing bed in her damned Dornish Tower."

The knights don't disagree, even the taller one, who respected the crown just enough to say 'Second' Queen even when drunk.

Tansy supposes she should be reprimanding the effusive girl, but honestly, she doubts anyone in the entire brothel disagrees. And if there is one thing that fills her coffers, it's regret.

* * *

 **Many years before Rhaenys was shipped to Dorne, there was another girl who was forced from King's Landing too.**

 **(only she was a lowborn bastard. And players in the game have no use for the ones without expensive blood.)**

* * *

 _285 AC_

She had liked working at the Peach, but then she'd gotten pregnant with the Rebeller's son.

She ran to her old post at The Cony the moment she realized she was pregnant. The old man who ran the joint had liked her well enough when she'd worked there as a girl, and he had been childhood friends with her late father. And then when her precious little boy was born, she stayed working at that tavern at the edge of King's Landing for as long as she could.

In the days she worked as a tavern wench, and in the nights she prayed. She had prayed _every single night_ to _every single one_ of the Seven that her sweet Gendry would grow out of his looks.

He didn't.

So a sennight after she hears about the branding of Shireen Baratheon, she leaves the tavern under the cover of the night. She saved enough money to reach the Riverlands at least, and she was sure she could once more join the roster amongst the Peach. Whores made more coin than tavern wenches anyways. (She doesn't want to raise her son at a brothel, but the boy's trademark cobalt eyes and ink-black hair leave her with no choice but to run from King's Landing.)

She gets just past the gate when she is approached by a round man with sharp eyes.

"Surely you understand what will happen should anyone know the truth of his parentage?" Says the rotund man who blends with the shadows.

"It's why I'm takin' him away from here," she hisses, pushing nearly three-year-old Gendry behind her leg.

"I could give him a place here. Even give him to a master who would teach him a trade. An apprenticeship. A much better life than you could ever offer him."

"I know well enough what fancy speakin' men like you give. You wan' him so you can give him to the King, another blue-eyed babe for the sick bastard to brand. Well _fuck off._ My son is comin' with me."

* * *

 **O** **ne does what one must**

* * *

The blond haired tavern wench dies in her sleep at an inn three days out from King's Landing. A wailing Gendry is taken back to King's Landing by two birds, where he is dropped off at Master Mott's doorstep. Varys had already discussed and paid for the boy's apprenticeship, well aware that he would find a way to ensure that Robert Baratheon's oldest boy stayed on the board. _Especially_ until he discerned the natures of the potential Targaryen heirs.

The Spider really hadn't wanted it all to come to such an end for the girl, having a personal distaste for small folk being turned into collateral, but the stubborn tavern wench left him no choice.

 _'Alas, one does what one must for the security of the Realm.'_

* * *

 **No one will hurt me here**

* * *

 _298 AC_

"Please, Uncle Renly. I _implore_ you. Leave me off to the library so I might avoid all their pointing and whispers. This library of the Red Keep is said to be second only to the Citadel's!"

" _Implore_?" Renly raises a fine brow at the elaborate word choice from his young niece as they walk arm-in-arm between the tents lining the tourney grounds. "Such a complex vocabulary for such a small child. Well it's reassuring that Maester Cressen is doing his due diligence at Storm's End, despite you seeming to prefer the company of backwater smugglers."

His neice petulantly removes her arms from his, then steps right in front of him, hands at her hips. " _Ser_ Davos is a _knight_ ," she says with all the license of a girl of twelve namedays.

"Yes, yes, yes." Renly half-heartedly concedes, with a leisurely wave of his good hand. "I've heard the same from your father. Now come along." He once more offers her his arm, only to face a wall of pure Baratheon pig-headedness.

"And I am two and ten, not some babe."

"In age perhaps, but you're still just as short as one."

"I am _not_ short. And stop trying to distract me, Uncle!"

"Is that what I'm doing, dear niece?"

She rolls her blue eyes, before a mischievous glint lightens them. "I believe I saw Ser Loras just around the corner we passed not thirty paces ago. Isn't he the acquaintance from the Reach that you still write to? You should let me escape to the library so you might enjoy your time in the capital as well."

Renly stiffens, no longer in a teasing mood. He feels his own blue eyes narrow as he heatedly whispers. "There is no such thing as an acquaintance from _the Reach_ , Shireen. Mace Tyrell starved us in our own home during the war. Let the Seven Hells take them all."

" _Uncle_!" Shireen hisses. He feels her hurriedly grab his arm before pulling them both to the side of the path. She looks about carefully, making sure no one else on the tourney grounds overhead his subversive words. Luckily, it's only their own Ser Bronn and Ser Gilbert Farring within hearing distance.

Renly knows better. He _should_ know better. And the reprimanding look from old Ser Farring says the same.

But Renly can't help but be on edge. The last time he was in this godsforsaken city, he was a boy of six years being held back by the _noble_ Kingsguard as Stannis screamed, before Renly was held down and forced to feel and hear his own skin sizzle from a scorched blade. So no, he will _not_ entertain Shireen's requests to be left to the library – left alone in this den of dragons. In truth, Renly did _not_ want to come. At all. Let alone bring Shireen into this den of mad dragons. Unfortunately for him, his brother and Tywin Lannister thought it "imperative" to give some sort of appearance at Prince Jon's nameday tourney – one of the few opportunities that families from all the kingdoms were represented at King's Landing. And so, he found himself leading troops from both the Stormlands and the Westerlands. Said joint forces were probably an idea of Tyrion's, to show that their niece had the support of both kingdoms despite her gender. Regardless, the politics were beyond him. He just did as his brother bid. In fact, that had been the _only_ reason he even affected friendship with any of the Reachmen. It was the only reason he tolerated being sent to the Reach so soon after what happened to Cersei.

 _("Protect her. You have to protect her. My daughter and my son. You must protect them.")_

He apologizes to his niece easily, running a hand over her black locks. As he does so, the yellow trim at his wrist catches on the sharp end of the half-mask that covers her entire left cheek _. 'An extravagant gift from her grandfather.'_ He knows. _'Something to cover Rhaegar's cruelty, to remind everyone just who he dared harm.'_

And yet, despite the mask engraved with thick and expensive golden filigree, he still hears the whispers that follow her.

"Traitor's blood."

"Poor girl, scarred for life."

"Lady Cersei's daughter. A pity, to lose one's mother in such a horrid way."

"Such a shame, what happened to Lady Cersei. A greater shame that the daughter of the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms lives with such an unsightly face."

 _'She shouldn't have to endure these vultures,'_ he seethes as he inwardly curses both Stannis and Tywin for putting Shireen through this charade. His grip on her arm tightens, and Shireen gives him a soft look.

"Please relax, no one will hurt me here."

At her words, Renly gives a pointed look to the left side of her face and then a sharp look to his own left hand.

She shakes her head, keeping her voice low so only he can hear. "You deserve happiness too. Even if it's someone from the Reach. Even if it's the son of Mace Tyrell. We shouldn't blame others for the actions of their fathers." She gently removes her arm from his.

Renly sighs. _'She truly is the heart of Storm's End.'_ For all the turmoil his sort-of relationship with Loras causes him, in so many ways, it is everything to have the support of at least one member of his own family. He smiles at her as he crouches down to meet her gaze. "I wonder how such a sweet creature comes from my stern brother."

"I imagine growing up with you and Uncle Tyrion had something to do with it." She gives a playful grin, one that reminds him of Jaime Lannister.

Renly smirks. "Hmm, too true. We can thank Tyrion for your wit, and myself for your good humor."

Shireen brings a finger to her chin in mock-consternation. "And who am I to credit for my _unseemly bawdy jokes_? And for my love of _frivolous fabrics_?"

They both smile at her teasing imitation of her father's well-known and well-advertised criticisms of both Tyrion and himself.

Renly rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Go on then, you sharp-tongued menace, before you poke your own eye out and I change my mind."

She rushes to give him a hug, before she makes to prance off towards the castle, no doubt in search of its fabled library.

And yet, the moment he sees her back, doubt once more overcomes Renly.

(" _Protect her. You have to protect her."_ )

So Renly pulls her back once more, his voice thick. "You'll be… vigilant?"

Shireen sighs with a strained smile. " _Yes._ You've warned me, Uncle Tyrion's warned me, Uncle Jaime's warned me, Father has been warning me daily for the last moon turn, and Grandfather even explicitly _ordered_ it of me."

To a degree, Renly understands her exasperation with all the sheltering men in her life. "I know I'm over-protective; we all are." Himself, Tyrion, Jaime, Stannis, Lord Tywin, even that up-jumped smuggler that holds his brother's esteem. Every adult in her life need only look at her face to be reminded of what had happened to her, of the constant threat that both her name and her blood place her in.

(It is not the first time that Renly curses Lyanna Stark's name, and prays she rots in the Seven Hells for her role in Robert's death. And for her role in all the horrors that his family continues to endure, all because that selfish oath-breaker wanted to play dress up with a crown.)

Ironically, it is because of that same horrible mark on Shireen's cheek that Renly gets to keep his darling niece for a bit longer. The Baratheon is well aware of the fact that at twelve years of age, and a child of two Great Houses, she would normally (at most) been only a few short years away from betrothal. A few short years from being sent from his protection to another's. However, the mark – both for its appearance and what it symbolizes (the crown's displeasure, a constant target on their families) – had the one good outcome of keeping power-hungry suitors at bay. After all, Shireen was currently both heiress to Storm's End and granddaughter of the richest man in The Seven Kingdoms.

Seeing the beseeching look in her eyes, Renly can hold out no longer. He offers her a tired nod of acceptance, loosening his hold just enough for her to laugh in delight ( _'and gods, but she truly has her mother's laugh'_ ) as she drags a hesitant Ser Farring forward towards the Red Keep's gates.

"Little Lady's got you by the balls, doesn't she?"

"Fuck off, Bronn. Do what Tyrion pays you to do, and look after my niece."

Bronn shrugs insouciantly, before making to swagger away and follow his charge. With an abrupt grip, Renly pulls the man back roughly by the shoulder, close enough that the skilled sellsword can hear the seriousness of his quiet, but vehement, orders. "And don't you dare let a single dragon come near her, do you understand?"

* * *

 **Their first meeting is a collision**

* * *

 _"You are part of the Lannister Legacy. You bow to no one. You fear no one. Do you understand?"_

Despite her Grandfather's words, Shireen is very much afraid of very many things.

The thing she fears worst is her past self – the girl capable of harming her own family. But she's been trying to not think about that so much anymore (after all, those dark thoughts already steal her nights, she refuses to let them consume her days as well).

Another thing she fears for is the safety of her remaining family, which is why she so desperately pleaded permission to retreat to the Red Keep's library as soon as possible. She heard the King was obsessed with prophecies, and so knew he would likely be in his private research tower with his infamous ripple-chained maester. _Not_ in the library. She heard that the princes were all soldiers, so they'd likely be out in the tourney grounds. _Not_ in the library.

So being in the Keep's main library, Shireen knows, is the best way to avoid dragons.

(They'll recognize her too easily, whether by mask or scar. And if they call her forward, Uncle Renly will get himself and their bannermen killed trying to deny them. And she'll not cause the death of another member of her family, not again. Not ever again.)

It's lonely in the library, but that's okay. _'I'm used to being lonely.'_

She frowns at her gloomy thoughts, reprimanding herself. _'I shouldn't sound so ungrateful.'_ Back in Storm's End, she has her father, Renly, Davos, Uncle Tyrion who visits frequently, as well as her Grandfather and Uncle Jaime who she visits fairly regularly as well.

 _'My father loves me, truly, I know.'_ Davos even tells her so, repeatedly. But her Lord father is… stern. (Davos offers her reasons for that too: "sweet girl, sometimes you just remind him too much of your mother.") She knows she should feel grateful for all she has… but sometimes… sometimes it feels like the only true confidants she has are Davos and her Uncles. _'And even to them, I am a burden.'_ She thinks morosely, thinking on how sometimes – when she laughs – Uncle Jaime acts as though looking upon her is the most painful thing he's ever done.

Storm's End is lonely. She should have ladies-in-waiting to keep her company, but her father has refused her request for them enough times for her to stop asking. ("He just wants to make sure you aren't unduly influenced by anyone, my Lady," explains Davos.) She doubts that is the whole reason. She suspects that at least part is because they worry the other Stormlander ladies would be repulsed by the very sight of her. Even now, she had initially been so excited to attend Prince Jon's tourney. With her new golden mask covering the heinous scar, she thought people would accept her. She thought she might make a _friend._ But instead, they still mock her behind their hands. They still recoil from her when she approaches. It is as if trying to hide the scar only drew more attention to it, and that veiling it only let the other ladies intensify its gruesomeness in their minds.

She doesn't know why she thought the mask would make a difference. Even when she visits Casterly Rock, the ladies there only address her when her Uncle or Grandfather are watching. (Worse still is her Aunt Lysa, who stares at Shireen with suspicious eyes and takes every opportunity that they are alone to angrily remind Shireen that the Rock belongs to her own future child, not "Cersei Lannister's spawn.")

Shireen shakes away the unpleasant thoughts of her increasingly unhinged aunt and focuses instead onto the covers of the many books lining the shelves.

 _'It truly is incredible,'_ admires Shireen. _'The amount of history and knowledge and stories – all collected into this one place. I could spend a lifetime here, and probably not finish every tome.'_

She skims over the titles in admiration. _The Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling_ by Grand Maester Munkun, _The Rogue Prince_ by Archmaester Gyldayn, and even _Rhaenyra Targaryean: the Queen who Challenged a Dynasty_. She adds them all to her mental reading list, but what she more truly searches for is one piece that even Uncle Tyrion has lauded and cited secondhand, but has yet to snag his own copy of. Unfortunately, it is a novel that her own father would never allow within Storm's End, let alone her hands. She is hoping that the Red Keep's renowned library might possess one of the last intact copies of _The Testimony of Mushroom_.

To her disappointment, she cannot find the book, nor can she find a maester or library hand to help her sift through the great number of shelves designated just for the histories. Of course she knew she was alone in the large space from the very beginning, when Ser Farring and Ser Bronn made a grandly _unnecessary_ show of scouting and clearing the area before standing guard outside its sole entrance. After hours of searching, a resigned Shireen resolves to sate one of her other curiosities and heads towards the area with the maps and geography scopes.

 _'Uncle Tyrion mentionned there were secret passages, tunnels, false walls, and even trapdoors all built within the castle all the way through to Aegon's High Hill. There must be some record of them, or a map at least.'_

After her hunting and gathering is complete, Shireen has a tower of books and three rolled up maps barely staying upright in her arms. They're covering her line of sight, so she isn't entirely surprised when she turns a corner and crashes into something, resulting in her pile (as well as herself) toppling to the ground.

It isn't until she feels another body overtop of her, that she comes to the mortifying realization that she didn't crash into something, but rather, some _one._

An apology is already half way out her lips when she meets his surprisingly-close-to-her grey eyes. In an attempt to avoid direct contact with the unknown male's gaze, her line of sight lands on the silver circlet around his head of dark brown tousled locks, and then to her growing terror, the blood-red Targaryen crest on his black doublet.

( _"I hear the youngest Targaryen looks entirely northern. So just avoid broody, dour acting folk and you should be alright! Those are the types to avoid when having any fun, after all."_ Teased Uncle Tyrion, before she left Storm's End.)

Prince Rickon Targaryen.

She is underneath a _Targaryen_.

 _'How did he get past Ser Bronn and Ser Farring!?'_ Shireen's heart races, her palms sweat. She wants to call for her guards, but her throat closes in terror. And to her utmost horror, her mask has fallen off. Her grey scar is visible. So are her trademark hair and eyes, and _of course_ her stupidly chosen yellow gown lined in black. She sees her name flash across his eyes the moment he realizes who she is; her chest tightens.

 _'I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.'_

.x.

 _'Shireen Baratheon.'_

He identifies her almost immediately, the scar easily putting a name to her face.

He notes her discomfort almost as quickly as he recognizes her. He feels his own cheeks warm as he realizes he is literally laying _astride_ her (Rhae would have his head if she saw him like this, draped over a lady of a Great House).

He abruptly rises off of her, and in some misguided attempt to help her shocked form stand as well, ends up pulling her into his chest, to which she responds by violently shoving herself away from him. It's reflex when he reaches out his left hand to grab her arm again, steadying her so that she doesn't once more meet the floor from the momentum of her push.

He feels the tension through his grip on her forearm. She's frozen, her eyes locked to the ground.

 _'She's… scared?'_ Rickon finally comprehends, though he is perplexed as to why. He is about to ask, when his gaze is drawn again to the infamous mark on her face. It's unconscious curiosity – truly – when Rickon raises his right arm. He abandons all semblance of propriety when he uses a finger from his free hand to trace the smooth grey scarring on the girl's left cheek. The silvery wound spans from the cheekbone under her eye to her chin in height. In width, it runs from beside her lips nearly all the way to beside her ear. Though, it appears to be far enough away from her mouth and eyes that it doesn't seem to restrict her expressions.

She flinches her face away from his touch, and his frown deepens when she leans back. "Does it hurt?" He asks calmly.

Shireen looks even more petrified when she meets his gaze, and almost immediately her blue eyes dart back down to the carpet. "…No," she lets out with a quiet voice, softer than a whisper.

Rickon uses his full hand then, palming her cheek. She does nothing, as his fingers border along the edge of the traitor's brand. He lowers his voice. "My father did this to you?" It's more a statement than a question. "When you were just a child, not even a year old."

Shireen finally steps away, eyes widening as she hurries to respond. "His Grace was merciful to my family. A traitor's brand was justice for my uncle's treachery."

Rickon notices that the words flow together too easily, and recognizes the well-practiced lines. _'She's not just scared of my name,'_ Rickon realizes, with a sinking feeling in his gut. _'She is scared of me. Scared that I will harm her, and face no repercussions just because of who are families are. Because of the crown on my head_. _We're alone, and she thinks I'm going to use the chance to hurt her._ '

Rickon knows exactly what it is to be scared of someone with more power than you – someone who will face no justice, not even a word of reprimand, for harming you. He makes his decision then, as he leans down to the side and begins to pull up the right leg of his trousers. Shireen looks confused, before blushing bright red and turning her face to the side. "Your Grace!" She squeals, "you can't just - this isn't - this is hardly prop–"

Rickon snorts. "I'm sure the virtue of my leg is safe with you, my Lady. Now come on, take a look, there is a point to this."

.x.

Her curiosity truly is a powerful thing for it to outweigh her fear in that moment. When she finally looks down, she notes the stark mark on his left leg. Her eyes widen, and she is unable to hold back her gasp. "Oh! Oh my. W-what is that?"

It is an ugly thing, a mottled scar that runs almost a hand's length up the lateral side of his calf. It looks like a knife of some sort was used to burn it into his skin. It is as wider than three finger-breadths. And the way the thick cord of scar juts outward, with tight and tiny spider-like branches along its edges, suggests that the wound was quite deep.

Shireen shakes her head and tries compose herself like she knows her grandfather would tell her to do. "How did you get such a wound?" She finally asks, as her gaze slowly returns to his face. Shireen knows the jagged cut cannot be from training, no knight would ever dare harm a prince so gruesomely. And she's pretty sure there have been no assassination attempts or anything of the like towards the royal family. (If there had been, there is no doubt in her mind that her family would have toasted over it.)

The prince's expression twists, his slate eyes darken, and his mind seems to go to place outside the wooden doors barring the library. "A ' _bastard's brand'_ according to my brother. I guess he learned that branding was a form of 'justice' from my father. I learned to not best my brothers in sparring quite quickly after this." He offers a bitter smile, eyes blank. "One held me down and the other carved the mark with a heated blade."

Shireen is curious, and her own courtesies have clearly left her, chased away by the prince's own easy familiarity. She bends down and stretches out her hand to follow the meandering of the scar. Her finger tips easily feel it's angry ridges. ' _What hate._ ' She shivers. ' _What kind of person is capable of doing something so violent to their family? To a younger sibling?'_

 _(Like a blaze, her errant thoughts set alight a memory from her own past, and she realizes she is the last person to judge another for harming one's younger brother.)_

The prince's words grab her attention, as she tilts her head back up to meet his soft gaze. "I know what it is to fear someone who will face not even a tongue-lashing for harming you because of their _position_. Trust me, my Lady. No harm to you will ever come from me."

With a start, she realizes that his words are sincere. Purely, wholly sincere. And with that honest vow, with their shared shy smiles, Shireen Baratheon begins to trust Rickon Targaryen.

* * *

. **(This meeting is the resurrection of revolution. They just don't know it yet.)**

* * *

After such heavy words, there is a heavier pause. And then, with zero care for the somber atmosphere, the Prince flippantly tilts a brow towards the pile of tomes and unravelling maps gracing the ground.

"So what are you researching?"

Shireen's eyes widen as she realizes the mess her clumsiness made. After replacing her mask, she quickly bends down to collect the scattered items. She is surprised when she sees the Prince kneel to do the same. They are both making their way to the nearest table with half an arm's full by the time she responds.

"I couldn't find the book I was searching for initially, so I tried to find books about the hidden tunnels." She carefully places her books onto the desk. "But there weren't any obvious ones, so I tried to find some about the architecture of the Red Keep, to see if I could work out the locations of the passages on my own."

The royal grimaces. "Seems dull," he says nonchalantly as he haphazardly drops the aged books onto the table.

 _'The nerve!'_ Shireen, now more than mildly affronted, cannot help the way her pitch rises. "It is not _dull_!'

Like a smack to the face, she realizes her own audacity in speaking to a _prince_ in such a brazen manner. A _Targaryen._ Embarrassed, pulse racing, she hurriedly looks to the floor while apologizing. She inwardly curses Uncle Jaime thrice over for letting her get away with every outburst of indignation she's ever had at his jests towards her scholarly pursuits.

And then, the Prince, he… he…

He _pokes_ her forehead.

She brings a hand up to spot, dazed at his benign reaction to her insolence.

He grins. "Why waste time reading about the tunnelways, when you could be exploring them?"

She frowns. "Well how would I explore them without getting lost if I haven't read about them?"

The Prince rolls his grey eyes, his tone almost condescending. "Getting lost _is_ exploring."

Shireen huffs, hands on her hips. "That sounds like the same _lackadaisical_ drivel my Uncle Jaime spouts when he doesn't want to do his research." (She's quite proud of herself for using _lackadaisical_ had just learned the term last week from Uncle Tyrion.)

The chestnut haired boy smirks, clearly choosing to take her reprimand as a compliment. "Besides, no book will tell you about the secret tunnels. King Maegor had the plans – and the builders – burned."

 _'Surprise, surprise, a Targaryen burning the innocent.'_ Shireen swallows her bitter thoughts, refusing to let them slip through her teeth. Not only does this confusing but so-far-not-cruel prince not deserve her ire yet, but she doubts he will remain so pleasant towards her if she openly insults his House. She settles for a relatively neutral response. "Well, that hardly seems an adequate payment for their services."

"I doubt that's what you actually wanted to say," he snorts. "You know, if you truly want to explore through the tunnels…" He pauses, his internal deliberation obvious. "I know them well enough. You seem a good enough sort. If it was just you, only you, I could take you throu—"

A loud knock on the entrance blares between the shelves, interrupting his offer.

"Little Lady, are you about done reading your books? Ser Farring won't stop blathering my ear off about lessons that you apparently _just can't_ be late for. Do help me, lest I go deaf from his jabbering."

"Just a moment!" She calls to her guards while looking at the Prince, signalling with her hands for him to wait. She quickly goes around the shelves towards the entrance.

She cracks open the heavy door to see her steadfast guards, and smiles. "Just a few more minutes to finish my chapter, please. Then you can escort me to my tents so I can dress properly for my lessons."

After ensuring the door is closed, she returns to the brown-haired royal with an eager bounce to her gait. With each step, she grows increasingly excited by his promise of adventure, increasingly excited to be near someone her age who actually wants to spend time with her, and who doesn't recoil from her face. "Your Grace, I would really, really like to explore those tunnels. I- I'll be here tomorrow. Likely around the same time, if… if you'd… if you want… that is, if Your Grace wants to…" She hesitates when she sees his confused frown, fearing she overstepped. Perhaps she misinterpreted his earlier offer?

Then he grins, scratching the back of his head. "If you'll be here, I'll be here too. I can show you the back entrance to the library first, in case you ever need it. It's how I entered today, actually. It's one of the entrances into the tunnelways. But, on one condition." Before she has the chance to fear his stipulation, he pokes her forehead again. "You call me Rickon."

She smiles as she pushes his outstretched hand away from her face. Joy overcoming propriety, she replies, "only if you call me Shireen."

 **{Silly girl. If only you knew what this boy's affection will cost you.}**

"My ears, Little Lady, my _ears._ "

Shireen rolls her eyes at Ser Bronn's dramatics from the other side of the door, and Rickon grins. "See you tomorrow then, _Shireen_."

* * *

 **Their first meeting is a collision**

 **(though it is years before the Realm will feel the aftershocks)**

 ** _and yet in the moments leading up to final quake, there are small tremors of change_**

* * *

During the two weeks of the tourney, they spend multiple hours a day chasing after each other in the tunnels.

It's the most fun Shireen has _ever_ had. She rarely gets to be so carefree, to indulge in acting her age, and she suspects the same is true for him.

.x.

Bal (surprisingly) takes to her right away.

 _'Bal doesn't even let Sam pet him as she does,'_ observes Rickon with no small amount of confusion.

"He might just like you better than me," Rickon teases, playfully whining with a putout air.

He crosses his arms, and Shireen responds by giggling brightly as Balerion licks her cheeks.

He steps closer to the duo that accompanied him into the eastern part of the tunnels. "You know, I was looking for him the other day, when I found you," he says.

 ** _{'Liar, liar.'}_**

Rickon waves at Bal, signaling for the cat to return to him.

"Hmm, I was wondering what you were doing in the library that day. Especially since you left without a book." She smiles when Balerion ignores Rickon's beckoning to instead pounce into her arms. She tosses a smug look towards an increasingly befuddled Rickon.

"Traitor." The prince mock-accuses.

He decides he quite likes the sound of her laughter.

 _'It's warm and it's kind, just like her.'_

.x.

"What was the book you wanted again?" It is the third day, and he is showing her the beginnings of the southern tunnels.

"What do you mean?" She says, a cute confused look upon her face.

Rickon continues. "On the first day we met, you said you were looking for a book, but you couldn't find it. Remember? You said that was why you started researching the tunnels instead."

"Oh! Yes, you're right. _The Testimony of Mushroom_. One of my uncles always quotes it. It's referenced and sourced in many other tomes, but even my uncle has yet to acquire a copy of the book itself."

"Hmm. Isn't that the history written by that fool dwarf?"

"There is nothing wrong with being short!"

Rickon raises his hands in a soothing gesture. "Calm down, I didn't mean it like—"

"My Uncle Tyrion is a dwarf, and he is the smartest man I know," Shireen storms on proudly, barreling over his attempted explanation. "Well, him and Maester Cressen." She amends.

Rickon smirks as he turns them down a corner, the one leading to the branch point they can use to reach the dragon pit. "Well I bet your uncle isn't half as smart as my friend Sam. Even if he is half the height."

Shireen whacks the prince's arm, feeling the need to defend her family even from his innocent ribbing. "Uncle Jaime told me that once my grandfather was _so_ angry at Uncle Tyrion, that he put my uncle in charge of all of the drains and cisterns at Casterly Rock as punishment. And you know what Uncle Tyrion did? He did such a good job, that even _my_ father hired him to fix the sewers at Storm's End! That's how smart he is. He's smart enough to turn anything around." Shireen frowns, facing Rickon with a serious expression. "Just because he was born a dwarf doesn't mean he is anything less."

"Like I was trying to say," he pauses with a pointed look, and Shireen feels her cheeks catch aflame. "I just meant that I was taught that Mushroom was a _known_ fool – as in the _position_. And as a _known fool,_ who was loyal to only Rhaenyra, I don't know why you'd put much stock in his version of events."

"I like to think every story deserves to be heard."

"Well you might not hear this one." Rickon shrugs. "Sam told me that Baelor I had most of the copies of Mushroom's book burned. I doubt there's even a copy left in our library." Rickon smirks at her. "Too _salacious,_ according to Sam."

Shireen bites her tongue on hearing about yet another Targaryen with an affinity for burning innocent things. For all that Rickon seems to hate his brothers and father, his sister who he adores is a Targaryen by birth too. Instead of telling him exactly how apropos it is for his ancestors to set alight good things, she frowns and teases. "Do you even _know_ what salacious means."

Rickon flushes, defensive. "Well, it can't mean anything good can it? If even the _saintly_ Baelor thought them so bad!"

Shireen snickers. She's overheard Uncle Tyrion use the term enough times to know _exactly_ what it means.

"Well then, lady know-it-all? Do tell?"

This time it is Shireen's turn to flush. There is no way she is explaining the meaning of that word to a _boy._ She shakes her head.

Rickon counters by reaching out and yanking on an unbound strand of her hair.

Shireen yelps, smacking his hand away. " _Ow_! What was that for?!"

Rickon shrugs playfully, before he turns and runs down the nearest tunnel. "Catch me if you can!" He goads over his shoulder.

"Oh you!" Shireen yells, before once more chasing him through the winding paths.

 **{look at that girl, he's already practicing how to hurt you then leave you.}**

.x.

They alternate between talking and games. Using the tunnels, he shows her the dragon pit, and even leads her to a private bank of Blackwater Bay. They chase each other through the hidden underground paths for hours and hours, and crash into each other more than once.

It is on the sixth day that they crash so hard, the gift from her grandfather flies off her face.

Rickon retrieves it for her in apology, and when he goes to give it to her, he pulls his hand away before she can grab the mask. He offers her face a funny look she can't quite decipher, which serves to augment every insecurity about herself she's ever had. Her hands clench at her sides in shame. In that moment, she has never hated her scar more.

She expects some sort of flippant comment about how it's a good thing she has something to cover the hideousness of her face.

Instead, he gives a quiet, "you don't need it, you know."

Her insecurities flare. She stutters, bringing her hand to cover the burn reflexively.

He frowns, pulling her hand away from her face. "At least with me. I know the other nobles here for the tourney can be cruel. But you don't have to wear the mask with me. You look just fine without it."

This time, it's her cheeks that flare. _'And he's still holding my hand!'_

(the next day, she puts the mask in her lady's satchel after she enters the library. Rickon smiles when he sees her.)

.x.

"What did you read today?" Asks Ser Farring, as he guides her towards Septa Saranella's sewing lessons.

" _The Age of Heroes_ by Grandmaester Arlow." The lie slides so easily off her lips. She knows that neither he nor Ser Bronn suspect a thing.

"You spend so much time reading, and you'll go blind!" Teases Ser Bronn.

"And are you familiar with the perils of over-reading, Ser Bronn?" Shireen inquires with a pointed brow and a burgeoning smile.

Ser Bronn laughs loudly. Even Ser Farring cracks a smile at her barb.

Neither tell her to forgo the library to join the festivities. She's glad for that, at least. She spends her days with Rickon, learning the tunnels and sharing stories. She eats breakfast with her bannermen, spends a few hours with her Septa for lessons, and then she meets her Uncle for a private dinner in the Baratheon tents. Her days are perfect as they are. But she knows that's not why her guards don't encourage her to be more social. _'They're probably just relieved that I'm doing something so benign as holing myself up in the library, and not running about places that Targaryens can see me.'_

She has only been required to attend three large public events. And more than once during them, she felt the burning gaze of the white-haired prince. Both her, as well as the entire Baratheon and Lannister retinue, were subject to his repeated angry glares. There is no attempt at subtlety; she even sees Prince Aegon frown when Uncle Renly makes it to the quarter-finals of the jousting tournament.

Rickon, however, was never in the Targaryen box at the events. Neither was the King, at least to the three events she was required to attend. It seemed to only be Prince Jon and Prince Aegon representing their House. She notes that, though it is Prince Jon's nameday tourney, Prince Aegon sits in the primary seat of their family's red and black box.

(It isn't until many years later that she realizes Rickon spent his time wafting between noble houses, endearing himself to their heirs and their Lords.)

.x.

The entire tournament is going so well. Undeniably, his favourite part is the time he spends with Shireen Baratheon.

It's at the very end of the tenth day when Rickon says something that almost ruins it.

He mentions her mother. It's an innocuous comment, and he doesn't even remember how the topic came up.

But when he says it, she looks at him with such angry confusion. _'How could you not know?!'_ Her wounded expression seems to scream. Rickon wonders if his father did something to her mother too, when she instead quietly whispers her response.

"My mother is… unwell. She has been unwell for a while."

He opens his mouth to tell her that it's okay, that he's sorry for bringing up something that clearly causes her so much pain, but she's already turning her back to him.

"I have to leave." She says coolly.

Rickon gapes at her tone and her obvious lie. "But your lessons aren't for another two hours!" And he knows they are, it's how it has been every single day. And she never leaves him before she has to, not ever.

"Well, they're earlier today. I'll see you tomorrow." In his stupefied shock, Rickon lets her walk away.

That night, he tosses and turns. He suspects she was lying about seeing him on the morrow. In fact, Rickon suspects his careless question poisoned their friendship, and his gut swirls with regret. He turns once more, his hands claw into the cloth of his pillows. _'It's fine. It will be fine.'_ He tells himself. _'I'll find a way to make her forgive me.'_

.x.

When Shireen enters the library on the eleventh day, she finds her new friend agitatedly pacing in the shelves with the books on lineages. When he sees her, his taut shoulders sag in relief, and he grins brightly despite the bruised creases under his eyes.

At his reaction, she realizes that he suspected she wouldn't come, that she would abandon him. The realization exacerbates her already brimming guilt. She'd thought on it all last night and this morning, how unfair their friendship was. Rickon had opened up to her the very first time they met, had told her something deeply personal and painful for him. And here she was, eleven days into the only true friendship she has ever had, and she has not revealed anything of consequence in return.

 _("A Lannister always pays their debts.")_

She wants to show him that she trusts him.

She wants him to stay her friend, to not think of her as someone who will take _and take and take,_ but run when she is expected to give.

She could tell him a great many things to fill her debt to him. And yet, last evening, the nightmares of her past mistakes allowed her no respite, and she suspects they never will if she doesn't reveal her nature to this boy who so genuinely offered her his friendship.

 **{He won't want friendship once he knows who you truly are.}**

"I have something to tell you." She whispers, voice thick. "I don't want to. I think you'll not want to be my friend after you know it. You'll probably be disgusted." _An ugly soul to match an ugly face._ "Actually, I think knowing might make you hate me as much as you hate your brothers."

Rickon seems shocked, and entirely doubtful, at her words. He opens his mouth as if to question her, but she shakes her head. He nods in solemn confusion, then pulls her hand towards the back entrance. He guides her through the tunnels, reaching an especially dim corner.

And under the cover of darkness, she tells him the story of her brother.

* * *

 _ **Kinslaying: the sin most certain to split sanity**_

* * *

 **End of Chapter 2 Part 3**

* * *

Review pretty please : - ) Reviews help encourage me to keep writing!

See below for **A/N,** **Preview, Updated Timeline,** and **Responses to Reviewers.**

A/N: Can someone please tell me the correct times of when to capitalize Lord / Lady/ Prince / Princess/ King / Queen. I am so lost, and I think I just keep going back and forth as a consequence of it?

A/N: Final call on if you want **Gendry x Arya** , or **Jaime x Arya** to be endgame in this fic.

Likes? Dislikes? Grammar mistakes? Let me know!

And In case you need to cry – check out 0:57 - 1:04 (www) / (watch?v=5sdTm08Ak-c) or youtube " **House Stark | Light Carries On"**

I also started a new fic (because I'm crazy fickle like that) called **Hallowed Hearts**. Basically a collection of Hogwarts AU Shireen x Rickon and Arya x Gendry stories, for anyone who is interested :-) I also recently updated **Alloys of Arryn** (more gendrya, Rickeen later on), so give that a peak if you haven't yet!

* * *

 ** _Preview_**

 ** _(flashes of upcoming chapters)_**

* * *

~ He thinks the gods are cruel in their japes, to give him his sister only to take her away.

~ "They're going to kill him, aren't they?"/ Tyrion frowns. "No, they can't. He's a Lord Paramount, they'd have no grounds. No reason."/ She scoffs bitterly. "Kings don't need reasons. Or have all those history books taught you nothing."

~ Tyrion's uncertain of how to react when he sees a letter addressed to him, sealed by red wax in the shape of a three-headed dragon.

~ If Lord Tywin was searching for an excuse to be rid of you, you've surely given him that.

~ Jaime adores Shireen, because she is the last piece of Cersei he has left…It is why he keeps her secret.

~ Robb recoils. "I'd never hurt you." / Rhaenys smiles bitterly. "I wonder if the King made pretty promises like yours to my mother when they were betrothed too."

~ First, Rhaeny learns how to weaponize Elia face. Second, Rhaenys learns how to weaponize Rhaella's body… "Are you drunk?" / "Not so much that I don't know what I want."/ "And what is it that you want, my Lord?" She eyes him warily. "A kiss. Just one. From the beautiful girl who'll be mine forever."

~Bran appears hesitant to broach his topic… "Lady Shireen is already at the Reach….she would be an appropriate bride to consider."

~ Ser Brynden scowls. "This could end in war, Bran!"/ "It was always going to come to war, uncle. I just put our families on the right side of it." / Brynden sighs deeply, and for once the lines on his face appear deep, and the fabled Blackfish looks his age. "There is no such thing as the right side of war, Brandon."/ Bran pauses before responding. "There is a side that bleeds less. And this time it will be ours."

~ Tell me, does it give you some sort of sick thrill to warm the bed of the family responsible for destroying yours?

~ I know a threat when I see one, Lord Varys. What it is that you want…

~ "Lady Baratheon, where is your crown?" A sinister voice drawls from behind her. Shireen's blood chills.

~"So I prayed to the gods "Take him away, make him die". He got the pox and I knew I was the worst woman who ever lived. A murderer. I'd condemned this poor, innocent child to a horrible death all because I was jealous of his mother, a woman he didn't even know! So I prayed to all Seven Gods "Let the boy live. Let him live and I'll love him. I'll be a mother to him... And he lived. And I couldn't keep my promise. And everything that's happened since then, all this horror that's come to my family...it's all because I couldn't love a motherless child." ~ Catelyn Stark, Game of Thrones 3x02: 'Dark Wings, Dark Words'

* * *

 ** _Updated Timeline_**

* * *

 **275 AC:** Cersei hears Maggy's prophecy (in which there is no valonqar)

 **279 AC (Year -2)** : **Rhaenys** Targaryen is born. Elia takes a long time to recover from delivering Rhaenys.

 **281 AC (Year 0):** Elia pregnant with Aegon. Maester Pycelle tells Rhaegar that if this second child doesn't die during labour and/or kill his wife, the next one will. Harrenhal tourney (and thus the QOLAB passover) is thus even more shocking because it happens when Elia Martell is pregnant. **Aegon** Targaryen is born. Lyanna 'abducted', Brandon Stark and Rickard Stark die per canon, Robert's Rebellion starts, including Ned's marriage to Cat. **Willas** Tyrell is 2 years old, **Loras** Tyrell is 1 year old, **Renly** Baratheon is 4 years old.

 **282 AC (Year 1): Robb** Stark and **Margaery** Tyrell born. Viserys and a pregnant Rhaelle sent to Dragonstone for protection, but when Baratheons seize it, they run away via ship. Stannis chases them, but due to a storm, cannot find them. They are considered lost at sea and dead.

 **283 AC (Year 2): Jon Targaryen** born and Robert's Rebellion ends. Lyanna Stark crowned the "Second Queen". End of war reparations (infamously known as 'Rhaegar's Reparations') announced. This includes the beheadings of Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully, and Balon Greyjoy; Stannis and Renly getting traitor brands on their arm and hand, respectively; Lannisters paying reparations to the crown; and Tyrells being denied the betrothal of Margaery to Aegon at the time (though Rhaegar tells the Tyrells she is still one of the females to be considered in the future). Ned returns to the North sans fake-bastard. **Gendry** Waters born.

 **284 AC (Year 3):** Stannis marries Cersei Lannister. Elia dies leaving behind three-year-old Aegon and five-year-old Rhaenys. Rickon Targaryen conceived. **Sansa** Stark born to Catelyn Stark. After stint in Maidenvault to ensure she wasn't pregnant with an Aryrn heir, Lysa betrothed to Jaime Lannister.

 **285 AC (Year 4)** : **Shireen** Baratheon (born to _**Cersei Baratheon**_ ). **Rickon Targaryen** born (Lyanna dies while giving birth to him). Shireen branded on her cheek. **Arya** and **Bran** – twins – born to Catelyn. Gendry's mother killed.

 **292 AC (Year 11):** Aegon shoots an arrow into Rickon's back. Rhae arranges for Rickon to get lessons with Sam (instead of with Aegon and Jon), and for Arthur Dayne to teach him.

 **294 AC (Year 12):** Rhaenys poisoned. Rhaegar agrees to betroth Rhaenys to Robb, but refuses to let Rickon ward there. They try to run away, but are stopped by the Kingsguard. Rhaegar propositions Rhaenys in front of Darry, she declines. She is sent to Dorne.

 **295 AC (Year 13):** Rickon and Sam save a boy by the dock, gaining support of the Brotherhood. Rickon starts his clinic. Wren witnesses Jon and Aegon brand Rickon with a 'bastard's brand' on his leg.

 **298 AC (Year 16):** Shireen and Rickon (age 12) befriend each other during Jon's nameday tourney.

* * *

 ** _Responses to Reviewers_**

* * *

 **Illythir –** Ya, Rhaegar kind of sucks in this story, but I needed a "big bad" if that makes sense? But I am planning for at least one more Rhaegar POV, which will hopefully convey more of the reasons why he is acting the way he is acting, especially towards Aegon. That one won't be coming up for a while though ;) Thank you so much for your kind words!

 **Supremus85** – remember, you haven't seen Jon's POV yet. ;) It's coming, but will probably soothe the readers who are confused by Jon's apparent siding with Aegon over Rickon (see reply to XanderP764).

 **XanderP764** \- I always appreciate honesty and love it when reviewers ask critical questions! Just remember, you haven't seen Jon's POV yet. I don't want to give too much away, but so far you've only read the POV of people who are seeing Jon the way he is trying to be seen, if that makes sense. Although Jon isn't cannon hero (because remember, he isn't raised by Ned Stark nor is he constantly berated by Catelyn Stark), he isn't a big bad in this story either. His actions will make a lot more sense with his POV (I hope), but it'll be 2-3 more chapters before I can reveal the motives behind his actions. If you really read into his dialogue so far, there are some very slight hints as to why he is acting so OOC. But don't worry, there is a reason I didn't tag this fic on AO3 as "not for Jon fans" ;-) I commented on the Citadel thing above. Again, ffn, so I'm taking some creative license and shifting some political and geographical landscape to make certain things more plausible in upcoming chapters. Thank you so much for your kind words! Cersei and Stannis was such an "out there" pairing when I initially started thinking about this fic, and I was so worried readers would at them, but it seems like they are actually one of the favs so far!

 **sr168** – I LOVED the smithing reference (alas, my gendrya heart). Thanks for picking out a line you liked, I love it when reviewers do that. Did you enjoy Shireen's POV! Unfortunately, Aegon and Jon's POV won't be making an appearance for a while. Thanks for your review : - )

 **Guests** – thanks for your kind words! See response to XanderP764 re: Jon ;)

 **Lightningscar** – Thanks for your kind words and your constructive criticism! Hopefully the timelines will help with point (1), but I'll try to also incorporate their ages more into dialogue/description. I totally agree with your point (2). I did it that way for two reasons: because I wanted to show how growing up in the Red Keep and in their family forced them to mature earlier, and for convenience (I needed a lot of the bad emotional stuff to happen when they were relatively young, so that I could move onto the more political stuff when they were older. But yes, definitely one hundred percent correct, they aren't age-appropriate in terms of their plotting and their thought processes. Thanks for pointing it out! Hopefully this chapter met expectations : - )

 **Amazing** – thanks! Unfortunately, I guess I fell a bit into the trope. Jon won't be a big bad (though he definitely won't be cannon either, since as you said, he was raised a Targaryen without Catelyn constantly berating him, without being seeing as the "only stain" of an honourable man, and without Ned Stark). See reply to XanderP764 for details. Thanks for your kind words!

 **iffy0420** \- I can't wait to finish writing their reunion! Thanks for your kind words! Oh, I promise, Rhaegar and Aegon get their just desserts. See reply to XanderP764 for details re: Jon, but I promise you're on the right track ;) Did Shireen and Rickon's meeting "meet" your expectations? : - )

 **Becky Blue Eyes** – thanks so much for your review! Reviews like yours definitely power me to keep putting out more chapters! And LOL goblets :'D Don't worry, Rickon's got something plotting ;) So happy you enjoyed Lyanna and Rhaenys! I definitely expected some backlash from that (since in lots of AU fics, it seems like Rhaenys blames Lyanna/Jon for her mother's death). Oh I can't wait to write the end of this story, I hope you'll be happy where Rhae ends up! I'm going to try to make her and Robb come up in the next chapter, though based on length, it might have to be in two chapters from now! Thanks so much for your kind words, hopefully this chapter met expectations!

 **Muramasa96** – Oooooooohhhhhhhhh good question! I promise, their story is coming. Remember, Dany x Jon is a pairing in this story ;) Happy you liked Cersei and Stannis, I really had a fun time writing them!

 **kurotenshi-08** – Happy to see another reader who enjoyed CxS ! Rhaenys and Rickon are so much fun for me to write, their reunion is coming up in 1-2 chapters so I hope you like it! : ) Thanks for the review!

 **rainingsun2811** – Good eye! See my reply to XanderP764 for details re: Jon, but you're right to be suspicious! No comment to the rest of your comment, but let's just say you're on the right track ;) Thanks for your kind words :D

 **IronSaint98** – Ahhh I am SO happy you commented on the Kingsguard! Hopefully you enjoyed Arthur's POV too! I promise there will be more Kingsguard, e.g. I can't wait to write Jonathor's POV!

 **flevantein c** – Thanks for your kind words! Jon and Aegon are coming, but might not be for quite a few chapters still! Darry's will probs pop up sooner ;) Remember, I haven't revealed what Rhaenys said to the Kingsguard before she left for Dorne, but I'm sure you smarties can figure out the jist! Ohhhhhhhh so happy people are getting the blackfyre/Targaryen civil war vibes. See my reply to XanderP764 for details re: Jon, but you are definitely correct to be questioning him!

 **Guest** – definitely agree with your opinions the whole obsession for family honor, ambition, and expected roles. Those are themes that will definitely be incorporated into this fic! Very interesting though re: Baelish and Brandon, I wonder if that did play a role?

 **Guest** – very interesting point re: Stannis being given the seat traditionally given to the heir apparent. Too bad no one in cannon pointed that out to him! Robert really was a bit a of a goof in terms of soiling his relations with his own brothers. It's definitely something you see in the upcoming chapters of Alloys of Arryn, but probably won't see any of Robert in this fic.

 **bigdog666 & Sylvage & Guest & waterbender19 **– thank you so much for your kind words : ) Their reunion is coming 1-2 chapters from now!

 **.10** – I promise, Rickon and Rhaenys will get their revenge ; )

 **Another Guest** – thanks so much for taking the time to review and for your king words! So happy you liked Cersei and Stannis, there will be more of them! I tried really hard to make the character's actions plausible, so I'm happy it seems realistic! You will definitely get some holes filled when you read Jon and Aegon's POVs ; ) You will definitely get the aftermath of Shireen's branding, partly through Tyrion's upcoming POV next chapter!

 **SilentReader97** – Ya, based on my other fics, I'm definitely not known for writing fluff LOL. But hopefully there was some happy-ish moments in this chapter! See my reply to XanderP764 for details re: Jon, but I promise the Jon and Aegon and other KG POVs are coming! They might take a few chapters though, just so it doesn't give everything away ;-)

 **Aryadna Stark** – thanks so much for your kind words! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

* * *

Please remember to review! : - )


	5. Chapter 2d: children without mothers

**HERE COMES** **PART 4 OF CHAPTER 2!**

* * *

 **DISCLAIMER:** Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of GRRM. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation and anxiety over whether readers will like it enough to review/hate it enough to flame ;)

* * *

 ** _Timeline_**

* * *

 **275 AC:** Cersei hears Maggy's prophecy (in which there is no valonqar)

 **279 AC (Year -2)** : **Rhaenys** Targaryen is born. Elia takes a long time to recover from delivering Rhaenys.

 **281 AC (Year 0):** Elia pregnant with Aegon. Maester Pycelle tells Rhaegar that if this second child doesn't die during labour and/or kill his wife, the next one will. Harrenhal tourney (and thus the QOLAB passover) is thus even more shocking because it happens when Elia Martell is pregnant. **Aegon** Targaryen is born. Lyanna 'abducted', Brandon Stark and Rickard Stark die per canon, Robert's Rebellion starts, including Ned's marriage to Cat. **Willas** Tyrell is 2 years old, **Loras** Tyrell is 1 year old, **Renly** Baratheon is 4 years old.

 **282 AC (Year 1): Robb** Stark and **Margaery** Tyrell born. Viserys and a pregnant Rhaelle sent to Dragonstone for protection, but when Baratheons seize it, they run away via ship. Stannis chases them, but due to a storm, cannot find them. They are considered lost at sea and dead.

 **283 AC (Year 2): Jon Targaryen** born and Robert's Rebellion ends. Lyanna Stark crowned the "Second Queen". End of war reparations (infamously known as 'Rhaegar's Reparations') announced. This includes the beheadings of Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully, and Balon Greyjoy; Stannis and Renly getting traitor brands on their arm and hand, respectively; Lannisters paying reparations to the crown; and Tyrells being denied the betrothal of Margaery to Aegon at the time (though Rhaegar tells the Tyrells she is still one of the females to be considered in the future). Ned returns to the North sans fake-bastard. **Gendry** Waters born.

 **284 AC (Year 3):** Stannis marries Cersei Lannister. Elia dies leaving behind three-year-old Aegon and five-year-old Rhaenys. Rickon Targaryen conceived. **Sansa** Stark born to Catelyn Stark. After stint in Maidenvault to ensure she wasn't pregnant with an Aryrn heir, Lysa betrothed to Jaime Lannister.

 **285 AC (Year 4)** : **Shireen** Baratheon (born to **_Cersei Baratheon_** ). **Rickon Targaryen** born (Lyanna dies while giving birth to him). Shireen branded on her cheek. **Arya** and **Bran** – twins – born to Catelyn. Gendry's mother killed.

 **292 AC (Year 11):** Aegon shoots an arrow into Rickon's back. Rhae arranges for Rickon to get lessons with Sam (instead of with Aegon and Jon), and for Arthur Dayne to teach him.

 **294 AC (Year 12):** Rhaenys poisoned. Rhaegar agrees to betroth Rhaenys to Robb, but refuses to let Rickon ward there. They try to run away, but are stopped by the Kingsguard. Rhaegar propositions Rhaenys in front of Darry, she declines. She is sent to Dorne.

 **295 AC (Year 13):** Rickon and Sam save a boy by the dock, gaining support of the Brotherhood. Rickon starts his clinic. Wren witnesses Jon and Aegon brand Rickon with a 'bastard's brand' on his leg.

 **298 AC (Year 16):** Shireen and Rickon (age 12) befriend each other during Jon's nameday tourney.

 **298 AC (Year 16):** Shireen and Rickon (12) befriend each other during Jon's nameday tourney.

* * *

 ** _STORY SO FAR_**

 **(I know I take too long to update, I'm sorry, but here's something to reacquaint everyone with the story's plot so far!)**

* * *

 **Chapter 1:** Rhaegar Targaryen loses in his one-on-one against Robert at the Battle of the Trident, but Lewyn kills Robert by stabbing him in the back. Rhaegar has his knights bring Lyanna and their newly born son (Jon) to King's Landing, where he crowns Lyanna as the Second Queen and starts dealing out "Rhaegar's reparations" (essentially punishing families who didn't support him as well as he feels they could have, or those families who supported the rebels). Lyanna becomes the second queen. Elia dies shortly after the rebellion ends. Lyanna dies giving birth to Rickon. We learn that there are some people who believe that Robert should have been King (calling him Robert the Wronged instead of Robert the Rebeller), and that there are already whispers of sedition being seeded around the Kingdom.

 **Chapter 2 Part 1:** We saw why Rhaegar was so brutal with his reparations (punishments for the rebel supporters), as well as how Cersei and Stannis came to care for each other (with some hints as to what Maggy's new prophecy to Cersei was throughout the chapter; of not, there is no Valonqar). Renly, who is traumatized from the branding by Rhaegar, vows to protect Cersei's child. Cersei fears she will die in childbirth. This spurs her epiphany re: Tyrion not being to blame for her mother's death. She invites Tyrion to Storm's End.

 **Chapter 2 Part 2:** We see how Rhae becomes close to Lyanna. Lyanna makes Rhae promise to look after Rickon, fearing that Rhaegar won't because Rhaegar wanted a daughter (for the prophecy, though Rhaenys isn't made aware of exactly why he wants another daughter at that time). Lyanna's POV explains why she ran, and she writes letters to her brothers (sent to Winterfell). She also writers letters to the children (given to Rhaegar). From Lewyn's POV we see his struggle with his vows, as well as Jaime's. We see that Rickon and Rhae are super close, and that Rickon thinks of her as his sister/best friend/mother. **From Rickon's POV,** Aegon hates him and Jon always sides with Aegon. Arrow incident happens (Aegon hits Rickon's arm with an arrow). Rhaegar is a jackass about it. Rhaenys finds out about the arrow incident and gets Sam (Maester in training) to be put in charge of Rickon's tutelage while ordering Ser Arthur Dayne to train him in swordplay. From Sam's POV we learn the Citadel is an independent city state

 **[I am well aware that in cannon, the Citadel is NOT a city state and NOT between the Reach and the Riverlands. However, for the purpose of this story, the Citadel is like the Vatican (an independent city state) – I am warping characters, history, and geography in this fic to suit my plot needs because ffn LOL. The significant of this will make sense later.]**

Rhaenys gets sick, Rickon tells her Aegon tried to poison her. Rhae tries to get herself betrothed to Robb Stark and Rickon made a ward of the North so that they can escape King's Landing, but Rhaegar is again, a jackass. Rhae and Rickon try to run, but the Kingsguard stop them and then Rhaegar accuses them of plotting to usurp crown from Aegon. Rhaegar 'punishes' them by sending Rhae to Dorne the next morning (to stay there until she is sent to the North to wed Robb), and he bans Rhaenys and Rickon from writing to each other. Rhae says something that mirrors Elia in chapter 1, Rhaegar gets drunk and essentially offers to wed her to make her Queen. Rhae says no, and gets an unfortunate dose of betrayal when Ser Darry doesn't step in to help her against Rhaegar's advances. Rhae repeats the knight vows, making Ser Darry question them. That evening, she visits Sam, the members of the Kingsguard (though you won't know what for until later!), and then finally Rickon (to whom she gives Balerion as a "loan"). Rhaenys leaves for Dorne the next morning, worried for Rickon's safety, as well as fearing what Jon & Aegon are capable of doing to him once she is no longer there.

 **Chapter 2 Part 3:** Rhaenys arrives in Dorne, a plot already brewing in her head as she endears herself to the Martells. Ser Arthur Dayne's POV shows pride over Rickon's skills, explains why the smallfolk love Rickon, and expresses concerns regarding how Rhaegar treats Rickon, and a (correct) suspicion that Rhaenys has plans involving Rickon to overthrow the crown. We meet Rickon's friends (including Gendry, Lommy, Hot Pie, [W]Easel, and Griff). Rickon and Sam save the life of a dock worker, and Sam unintentionally blows Rickon's cover, leading to more smallfolk loving him. Moreover, his heroics catch the attention and unintentionally makes allies out of the leaders of the Brotherhood without Banners. After Rickon realizes the dire straits of the smallfolk, he makes a vow to himself to improve Flea Bottom, starting with a clinic he funds to service the poor. Sam and Maester Tarot are the main volunteers. Next we see a POV from Wren, one of Varys's little birds, who sees Rickon face his brothers in combat. She sees Rickon initially try to decline Aegon's challenge, only being spurred into it when Aegon insults Rickon's mother (who Aegon means to be Lyanna, but Rickon interprets as an insult to Rhaenys, as well as a reminder that Aegon tried to kill her). Wren sees Jon trick Rickon into showing him the tunnels, where Aegon awaits. Then Wren overhears as the older Princes brand Rickon's leg with a "bastard's brand". Next we see the full Tansy (Peach owner) POV, which introduces Jon's nameday celebrations and the smallfolk's opinions on each of the royals. Then we get a flashback to the past with Gendry's mother's POV, who tries to escape King's Landing with Gendry only to be killed and for Gendry to be dropped off at Mott's courtesy of Lord Varys. Back to the present, we FINALLY meet Shireen from Renly's POV. They have come to Jon's nameday tourney in KL with Ser Bronn and Ser Farring and a whole load of others from the Lannister and Baratheon retinue. It's hinted at that for some reason, Stannis and Tywin wanted Shireen in King's Landing for the tourney. We learn that Renly begrudgingly spent some time squiring in the Reach, and cares for Loras though it is something that causes him great inner conflict. Shireen and Rickon meet in the library, and they're tots adorbs and cutely awkward together. They secretly spend time together in the tunnels under the Red Keep, nearly every day during the tourney (while Shireen's guards think she is reading in the library, and stand guard outside it). Balerion adores Shireen, because who doesn't? Shireen reveals a desire to read 'The Testimony of Mushroom'. The duo get along swimmingly, until Rickon brings up her mother. Shireen ends up dragging him into the tunnels, because she feels she owes him the story of what happened to her brother. Shireen warns Rickon that he will hate her once he knows what she did to her brother.

 **A/N:** As always, **responses** to reviewers and **preview** of upcoming chapters at the bottom. If you catch any mistakes, please make note of them and let me know if a review/PM!

* * *

.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

x

 _"A man should never refuse to taste a peach. He may never get the chance again."_

 _~Renly Baratheon, A Clash of Kings, Chapter Catelyn III_

x

 _"Promise me, Ned... Promise me."_

 _~Lyanna, A Game of Thrones, Chapter Ned I_

x

 _"The best part of him died with her."_

 _~Gerion, A Storm of Swords, Chapter Tyrion V_

x

 _"It should have been you."_

 _~ Catelyn [to Jon], A Game of Thrones, 1x01_

 _x_

"An open heart is what you'll get in Flea Bottom if you're not careful, my dear."

~ Cersei Lannister, _A Game of Thrones, 3x01_

x

 _"So I prayed to the gods 'Take him away, make him die'. He got the pox and I knew I was the worst woman who ever lived. A murderer. I'd condemned this poor, innocent child to a horrible death all because I was jealous of his mother, a woman he didn't even know! So I prayed to all Seven Gods 'Let the boy live. Let him live and I'll love him. I'll be a mother to him...' And he lived. And I couldn't keep my promise. And everything that's happened since then, all this horror that's come to my family..._

 _It's all because I couldn't love a motherless child."_

 _~ Catelyn Stark, Game of Thrones, 3x02_

.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

* * *

 **.x.**

 **Wolves Aflame**

 _Chapter 2: children without mothers_

 _(Peaches & Promises & Penance)_

 ** _Part 4_**

 **.x.**

* * *

 **If I truly saved her, why would she be crying?**

* * *

 _292 AC_

Rickon is seven when Rhaenys gifts him the handkerchief.

He frowns at the offering, seeing it as nothing more than an inconvenient delay in their tree-climbing plans. "And what do I do with such a weak and flimsy thing?" he opines, petulantly stretching the delicate-looking stitching. Despite his manipulations, the clothe holds firm, surprising Rickon by its stubborn strength.

His sister gives him a familiar, half-hearted whack across the back of his head. At his disbelieving grunt she raises an unimpressed brow. "Weak?" She questions warningly.

Rickon feels his cheeks puff up. "Well, it sure looked like it!" He defends, still at the age where he is never wrong. He rubs the back of his head, frowning. " _Well_?" He urges.

Rhae makes to poke his forehead, and Rickon squeals while side-stepping her outstretched hand and foreboding finger. "I know I've taught you better manners," she gently chastises.

Rickon sighs, then pastes on a smile (the exact way she taught him to), and politely asks that she address his earlier query.

Rhae hums in consideration. "You wish to be a knight like Ser Arthur, do you not?" At his confused nod, she continues. "This is something knights do. They carry around a clean handkerchief, ready to give it to some poor crying damsel, or princess, or maiden that they save." She smiles teasingly. "One day you might rescue a lady, and how else will you prove yourself to be a gallant knight without having one of these ready to wipe her tears?"

"If I truly saved her, why would she be _crying_?" Rickon looks bewildered at her explanation. "And I'd like to think she'd be too thankful for my services to care much for if I had a silly cloth." He punctuates the last sentence with a twirl of the squared fabric. Rhae lets out something close to a snort (at least, as close to a snort that someone as graceful as Rhae will ever let escape) before she once more bypasses his defences to quickly poke his cheek.

Rickon scoffs as he exasperatedly bats away her hand. "Besides," he mumbles quietly, and perhaps a little belligerently, while looking at his boots. "The only lady I'd ever care to save is you."

She smiles tenderly, then bends her knees slightly to match his height, as she takes the cloth from his hands and neatly folds it. She latches on to his earlier arguments. "Sometimes it is the small, silly things that people care for most. In fact, sometimes it is the small things that they remember most of all." She places the folded fabric back into his palms. The embroidered "R" stands out brightly.

 _R_ for Rickon.

 _R_ for Rhaenys.

 _(Only, it'll mean something different to them in the future: restraint, remembrance, revenge… Rebellion.)_

Finally conceding, Rickon huffs. "I'll keep it because you made it. I suppose that's all the reason I'll ever need."

Rhae pinches his cheeks and he huffily batts away her hand once more. " _Oi_! Stop it, won't you! I'm not a babe!" He whines.

Rhae laughs lightly, a tinkling sound. "No, of course not."

Patience gone, Rickon rocks on the heels of his feet. "So can we climb the peach trees now? _Please?_ "

She seems to laugh to herself at the timing of his question, which baffles Rickon. Then she offers him a conspiring wink, ruffling his brown curls. "Of course, litle brother. I'll always be here to climb with you. We just have to make sure no one sees, lest we get ourselves into trouble again."

* * *

 **Trouble is a tame word for the seditious plan they whisper three years later, on the night before she is exiled from the Red Keep by the King.**

* * *

 _294 AC_

 _"Please don't leave me, Rhae. Please, please don't leave me. I'm scared. I don't want to stay here without you. I can't. Please. Please don't leave me here all alone."_

 _"It'll be okay. I'll make it okay. But you have to listen to me very carefully. You have to do everything I say. Do you understand, Rickon?"_

 _"_ _Nothing will be okay with you gone. We'll never be safe."_

 _"_ _We can be. I have a plan. It's a dangerous thing though… This stays secret between us, Rickon. You cannot ever tell a soul, do you understand me?"_

 _"_ _I promise. I'll do whatever you need me to."_

…

 _"_ _We will need allies, Rickon."_

 _"_ _But how will you convince them? They are Aegon's family as much as they are yours."_

 _"_ _I'll think of something. It's a long journey from here to Sunspear, and longer still until I am sold to the North."_

…

 _"One day, Rickon. We'll be safe. They'll never be able to hurt either of us again, I promise."_

* * *

 **Kill him and give me my mother back**

* * *

For Shireen, her beautiful mother is a collection of fragmented memories.

It is a collection she fervently clings to, keeps safe and secure in a delicate drawer bulwarked within her heart. She revisits the revered drawer often, maintains the memories so they remain fresh and clean, and refuses to let the drawer collect dust. She fears that once the dust starts to settle, the memories will become murky and smeared. She fears letting them fall unkempt will lead them to fade and disintegrate, leaving her with nothing but a whispered name and a hollow space where her mother used to be.

 _{Shireen's earliest memory of her mother is long golden strands flying against the backdrop of a roaring sea}_

When Shireen is five years old, she loves her mother's stories more than anything in the world. And the best time in the whole day is when her mother and her walk side-by-side along the expansive meandering shores of Shipwrecker Bay, her mother spinning stories between the crashing of the waves. During these 'water walks', her mother tells her grand tales about lions and stags ruling kingdoms, proud and strong beasts that defeat every enemy. In between stories, Shireen collects the loveliest shells to gift her mother, who always accepts them with a warm smile that makes her mom radiate the way Shireen believes fabled queens once did.

"I wish I was pretty, pretty like you." Shireen mumbles on one of the water walks, her collected shells dropping to the ground so she can cover her marred cheek with her small hands. Her mother kneels before her quickly, uncaring of the sand staining her lovely yellow and gold gown. The older woman brings a larger hand gently over both of Shireen's, and pulls them both away from her burned skin.

"Oh sweetling, you're the most beautiful thing in this world. You're a lion and a stag, that makes you better than any other girl you will ever meet." And then she says lower, as if sharing a secret. "And one day, I'm going to put a crown on your head; it's your destiny. You'll become the most beautiful and the most powerful woman in this entire country. It's fate for gold to rim your brow."

Shireen embraces her mother tightly. She nods, not quite understanding the bit about the crown and destiny, but too busy indulging in the safety of her mother's arms to question the confusing words. Instead she looks out to the familiar grumbling expanse of dark blue, hears the drums of the crashing waves against the rocky shores, and uses the scene to imagine a diverse world of magic. One with sea queens with scales for tails, asrais and naiads, and all manner of mythical water beings that would not even blink at the ugly burns scorched onto her cheek. Her mother doesn't much like talking about creatures other than stags and lions, but Shireen finds that sometimes her own voiced fantastical stories about the world within the waves can win another coveted smile from her mother.

The next day, the Baratheons entertain a visiting Stormlord and his family. Expectedly, the lord's pretty daughter lets out a not-so-subtle rude comment (much to the Lord's chagrin), making fun of Shireen's face. Also expectedly, Shireen's mother turns towards the visiting little girl with a sharp smile, and rather efficiently makes fun of the girl's nose, ears, and speech. Her mother's pointed comments cause Renly to snort his drink onto his plate in amusement, stray drops of spittle landing on the back of the mortified girl's hands, and Shireen decides her mother to be the most amazing person in the entirety of the Realm. (Renly's pretty great too; she knows he aimed his wayward spit intentionally.)

 _{Shireen's most confusing memory of her mother is the days and nights the woman spent sobbing in her chambers}_

Shireen's mother was happy.

Mostly.

There were two times when she wasn't, that Shireen can remember. Both incidences began with whispered talks and hints of Shireen getting new siblings. Her mother grew round with child twice, and both times Shireen remembers feeling the strong kick of her future siblings (a Myrcella or Joffrey, she was told) only to never actually meet them.

Instead of a baby's wails, she remembers the Bells of the Storm Sept ringing the way they rang for the dead. She also remembers her mother locking herself in her chambers, screaming violently at any who dared enter. Well, any who weren't Shireen or Shireen's father. In fact, Shireen vividly remembers walking in on her parents both kneeling on the floor of their room, and seeing her father clutching her mother with his steady grip, burying his face into her tangled blonde waves, as she grieved loudly and messily into his arms. ( _"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." / "It is not your fault. Trust me, please." / "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."_ )

Shireen remembers thinking at the time that it was rather remarkable that her mother remained beautiful even when she wept. And young Shireen didn't fully understand the concept of _stillborn_ at the time. So she didn't grieve like her parents did. Instead she brooded; a lonely little girl promised a companion who never came.

Except… when he did.

 _{Shireen's most painful memory of her mother is the time the promised companion breathed}_

Lady Cersei Baratheon gave birth to Tommen Baratheon, heir of Storm's End, when Shireen was seven years old.

And yet, though the much-anticipated baby boy survived the labour and delivery unlike his two predecessors, he was sickly. He was a feeble thing that left her mother unconscious, and bleeding so much that Maester Jurne approached the present Baratheons and sole Lannister in drenched garb, and advised them all to say their farewells. He told them with a sad face and red hands, that Shireen was hours from becoming motherless.

Shireen remembers entering messy chambers smelling pungently of iron. Shireen remembers fearfully walking towards her beautiful mother, hand in hand with her father. She remembers her father's face shattering when they saw her mother lying still, pale as a ghost, and breathing so slightly she might as well not be breathing at all. Shireen remembers holding a cooling hand and whispering a shaky goodbye, doubting that what was left of her mother could hear her.

Shireen left the room before her father. She paused for just a moment, back pressed against the closed door and looking pleadingly to both Uncle Renly and Uncle Tyrion, who waited in the halls. They could do something, couldn't they? Something to save her mother? Uncle Tyrion was the smartest person she had ever met, and Uncle Renly was the most determined. They would think of something, surely.

She remembers the way that even her uncles' strong faces crumbled, when they heard the faint sounds of her father's sobs echo from the chamber.

.x.

 _292 AC_

 _'_ _You killed my mother.'_ Shireen seethes with burning hate in her eyes when she scowls upon the frail beast shuddering in the crib lined in black and yellow. _'Every breath you take, you steal from her.'_ Shireen laments the watchful handmaiden present at the crib's side, furious that the witness means she cannot reach into the wooden bed and toss her mother's murderer into the sea, to become food for the asrais and naiads to devour. For a moment she is lost in the brutal imagery in her head, and when she returns, a dark idea spurs and grows.

 _Sacrifice_.

She can appease the Seven with a life, just not the life they plan to take. A whimper of sorts comes from the feeble monster in the crib - from hunger, most likely. But Shireen doesn't care. All she hears is the broken sobs of her father, the silence of her uncles, the beautifully strong voice of her mother that they will never hear again ( _'sweetling, I'll love you forever. I will always be here for you'_ ), and the new voice hissing savagely in the back of her head:

 _'_ _Kill the monster, so that mother may live.'_

.x.

* * *

 _298 AC_

Sometimes the edges of those fragmented memories of her mother are sharp, painful to the touch. But Shireen continues her dedicated maintenance. She knows the pain of remembering will pale to the pain of forgetting. So she tells the tales to herself, again and again. In a way, Cersei Baratheon becomes a story, and sometimes Shireen remembers chapters where she played a role in the myth of her mother. Shireen has never spoken the tale that lives so close to her heart so freely, and now she is an open book before this boy who is the only friend she has ever had. A friend she will lose by the last page of this narrative. When Rickon learns what she did to her own brother… when he learns her true capacity for cruelty... there is no world in which he will stay with her.

"First I prayed at our Sept." Shireen whispers into his shoulder, indulging in what she knows will be the last of his presence in her life. "I prayed to the gods _'Take him away. Make him die. Kill him and give me my mother back.'_ He was already so ill, and small, barely two weeks of age. His every breath rattled. My mother was at death's door, foot already stepping in. So I prayed those foul prayers in our Sept every spare moment I had… until Uncle Tyrion found me. He overheard what I was praying for, and… Oh, Rickon, we fought so horribly. I… I think he hated me, at least for a moment. After his disproval and reprimand, I couldn't dare force myself to face the Sept again… so I started praying for my brother's death in my mother's room instead."

Rickon's face is mostly shadowed, only his proximity lets her see the narrowing of his eyes. His hands clench into the fabric of her forearms, as they hang listlessly on either side of her. He nods his head, and she continues. Her head remains on his shoulder, but she turns to face it away from him, ashamed.

"My mother woke, for only an hour. Perhaps she heard my vile mutterings, I had said half those prayers aloud by her bedside anytime the servants left the room, after all. When she woke up, she was just lucid enough to speak to me. She told me clearly, _'You must love him, and protect him. You are good, you are perhaps the only good thing I have ever done. You must look after your father, your uncles. But most of all, love and protect your brother.'_ She told me she loved me, and then her eyes closed. And I screamed for the Maester, screamed _so_ loudly; but the moment he entered and heard my explanation he told me some awful spiel of how grief could trick our eyes. But I didn't care that he thought it was a hallucination, I knew what really happened. So I prayed even more than before, but this time, begging the gods to spare both my mother and my brother."

Shireen's voice cracks, and she feels Rickon's hands reposition so that they intertwine with hers. Her eyes burn, and her face burrows deeper into the fabric of his doublet.

"B-But by then his illness had soured, and I knew I was the worst person who ever lived. A murderer. A _kinslayer._ I'd condemned a poor, innocent child – my own baby brother - to a horrible death all because I was grieving for my mother, a woman he would not even get to know! So I prayed to all Seven Gods every minute of every day, until my knees were raw, _'let my brother live. Let my brother live and I'll love him. I'll be a sister to him. A true sister.'_ " Shireen trembles. "He died not even three days later. So yes, Rickon, I am cursed in more ways than one. A kinslayer, a slight to the gods with my very breath. The only reason I have not saved the world from my treacherous existence is because I promised my mother I would look out for our family."

Her story ends, and his hands leave hers.

And even though it was the expected outcome, the loss of him hurts just the same. And by the gods, _the_ _loss of him hurts so brutally._ She lifts her face from his tense shoulder, starts to step away from him with her gaze trained on the ground. "I understand," her voice breaks, "t-that you never want to see me again. I'm worse than even your _brothers."_

 _'I succeeded where they had failed. Do you hate me, Rickon? No doubt you must.'_ Shireen hopes he will offer the mercy of at least showing her the way back out of the tunnels. Even if she remembered the way, she can't make out anything past the tears obscuring her vision.

Her whole body jolts when his hands, surprisingly, return to her. One hand wipes the tears messily running down her cheek while attempting to raise her gaze from the floor, and the other is offering her…

Her eyes squint. Is that... a handkerchief?

"For the lady," he intones deeply, semi-mockingly in an admirable attempt at much-needed (if ostensibly misplaced and slightly awkward) levity, before he continues softly. "And for _my friend_."

 _'Friend.'_

Shireen's smile is wobbly as she plays along, "I-I thank you for your infallible gallantry, my brave knight." Her trembling fingers take the handkerchief from his proffered hand, and she lets out a wet giggle when he bows exaggeratedly.

"Always for you, my lady." He smiles crookedly, and Shireen feels her breath stutter.

 _'Friend.'_

"Thank you for listening. For not leaving." She says it quietly, though she means it wholeheartedly, and against her will her eyes mist further. Perhaps she might sleep just a bit better now, knowing that at least one person in the world forgives her for her atrocious actions.

Rickon pulls her into a tight hug. It's awkward, but so utterly necessary to keep Shireen standing. She hadn't even realized she was shaking so terribly until he steadied her.

"I'll never leave you."

He says it like a vow into the dark strands lining top of her head, and Shireen believes him. Their shared smile is a small flicker of a connection - of an understanding earned through reliving, and surviving, their most poignant memories together. They're not yet thirteen, known each other for just a sennight, and their family names hate each other bitterly. Yet, it's so easy to trust him: her first friend, the first to forgive her greatest sin, the first boy who starts to win pieces of her heart.

 **{An increasingly trite tale; another Baratheon cursed to follow a Stark to their grave}**

* * *

Her final afternoon comes too quickly.

"I'm leaving tomorrow." She tells him, unnecessarily, as they slowly stroll along the now familiar long isles lining the Keep's library.

His grip on her hand tightens. "But, I didn't even get to show you the Lattice, or the docks, or introduce you to my friends. You didn't even get to meet Sam!" It is an unfortunate truth. Despite desiring to share with her the other important parts of his life; they had been unable to craft a long enough timeframe in order to leave the Keep and return, before her guards checked in on her. Truthfully, he could have (and _should_ have) brought Sam down to the library. But, Rickon belatedly realizes that he had been too possessive of his time with Shireen, which was so limited already, to risk diluting it with someone else.

Shireen just nods in response, her throat tight as she keeps her gaze on the titles etched onto the spines they pass. "I really was looking forward to meeting Hot Cake."

Rickon barks out a laugh. He knows she misspoke intentionally, and he appreciates her all the more for it. It hits him then, not for the first time, that losing her is not an option. He tugs on her hand, stopping their pace and turning her gently to face him. "You still can," he begins lightly, almost jokingly. But not entirely so. Rickon has spent more than one night sifting through his crazy thoughts; weaving up different means and methods and plots to keep her with him. "In fact, there are so many rooms in the Keep, so many more than the ones I showed you in the tunnels," he continues teasingly as he lightly pulls on a stray strand of her soft hair. "I could hide you in any one of those rooms. I'd bring you food and water," _and any and every thing you ever desired, if only you stayed with me._

By the end of his sentence, his voice loses its initial mirth; he doubts he is truly teasing anymore. He knows it is foolish to hope for her to stay, and suspects that her family would sooner see her dead than allow her to remain in the Keep and stay friends with him.

She gives a soft giggle at his words; the gentle sound slams harshly into his chest. Once more, the inevitability of her departure sends his heart spasming.

 _'_ _You made me feel safe in a castle that has terrified me for years. I didn't have to pretend or wear a mask with you. S_ _tay with me. Please. Everybody leaves me. I can't lose you too._

Forcing himself to be brave, he seizes the break in conversation to introduce his _actual_ plan.

"My hand is not very good, is what Sam says. He says my writing is only just readable, so it wouldn't be easy for you, but if it's okay, I mean, if you want, I could, well _we_ could... send letters? To each other, I mean." He hedges and stumbles over his request, uncertain of whether she will want to keep his acquaintance once she is back with her family.

She answers immediately with delighted eyes. "Of course! That's a splendid idea!"

His heart beams, until it stops with her addendum. "But..."

Her pause is prolonged as she seems to mull over something in her head. Rickon's grip on her hand tightens, fearful that she will rescind her agreement, and that she will be forced to leave him just like Rhae was.

 _'Everyone leaves.'_

 **{Perhaps you're just not worth staying for?}**

"...But, you must sign off as a serving girl." Shireen nods to herself, her joy pulling Rickon from his dark space.

"What?!" Rickon reels a little, baffled, yet his hand remains clamped onto hers. "Why do I need to sign off as a _girl_?"

Shireen rolls her pretty blue eyes, in an indulgently exasperated manner that he is now familiar with. "Well, my father would not allow me to engage in private correspondence with a boy I am not betrothed to," she pauses again, and continues on a bit quieter. "Let alone... a Targaryen."

(She forgets his family name often, he knows. It is probably easy for her to do so when he looks so little like his so-called House.)

Rickon raises a brow, eager to bring her thoughts away from the potential political ramifications of their acquaintance. "And your ' _proper_ ' lord father would rather you write to a serving girl?"

Shireen's unscarred cheek reddens brightly, the other cheek flushes only in the unblemished, smooth parts. "I haven't many…" (' _any,'_ he hears) "friends, really. I think my father would just be pleased for me to have someone to write too. I can say you do it to improve your hand. Perhaps I can make it so your mother is a lady's maiden to one of the lesser houses in the Crownlands, and is trying to teach you, if he truly asks for details." Shireen seems to buzz with excitement at this new game between them. Balerion casually brushes by her ankles, slyly announcing his presence, and her smile sharpens into a playful smirk. "We can name you Keli. It means Cat in High Valyrian!"

Rickon's eyes widen, now convinced she will never cease to amaze him. "You speak High Valyrian, too?"

Shireen blushes harder, mumbling. "I've been teaching myself." ( _'I have the time to teach myself; it's lonely back home,'_ is what he hears.)

Rickon snorts, once more tugging at a stray strand of her hair (he likes that she doesn't flinch when he does it anymore). "Sam would love you, he's been trying to get me to learn High Valyrian forever." Then he contemplates her words. "If you're intent on naming me, I would much rather be a name that means something powerful. Maybe like a wolf, or winter, or even storm."

Shireen brings a curved finger to her chin in consideration. "How very Stark of you. Well, perzys means frozen. So you could be Percy?"

Rickon snickers. "That's an odd sounding name."

Shireen huffs, arms akimbo. "Well can you think of anything better, then?"

Rickon nods, responding easily. "Yes, _Rickon_!"

Shireen deadpans. "Rickon is _not_ a girl's name."

Rickon shrugs. "It could be."

"Please use another," Shireen beseeches. "There is only one Rickon from King's Landing that any will suspect if they find our letters. Maester Cressen would—"

"That's it!" Rickon grins. "Sam can be our middle man. You can address your letters to him. You're so smart, it would make sense that you would want to correspond with a Maester's apprentice for more knowledge. And he's a major lord's son too, so of appropriate station to be writing to you if anyone finds the letters."

Shireen's eyes brighten hopefully with his every word. "Oh, that's brilliant! Since he is also training to be a maester, and they cannot wed, my father and grandfather cannot deny me by claiming it as a threat to my future bethrothals!"

Rickon gut tightens abruptly at the thought of Shireen being betrothed to someone. He roughly shoves aside the ugly, twisted feeling for now, forcing his smile to remain steady. He tilts his head, "you'll write the first letter then, after convincing your father."

Shireen nods eagerly.

"Good. Then—"

A knock on the library door interrupts him.

Rickon's heartbeat races.

 **{She's leaving now. Will you let her?}**

He hears her call out to Ser Bronn and Ser Farring that she will be with them shortly. He once more reaches for her, only this time both his hands grip her wrists, tighter than intended. She turns her gaze back to him, and he hesitates.

 **{Will you let another be her first?}**

His resolve bolstered, he quickly lays an awkward kiss to her scarred cheek. It's a rushed thing, and his nose hits her cheek before his lips do. His own cheeks flare at his forwardness, and he immediately pulls her closer by her wrists, crashing her into his chest so he can hide his flushed face by hugging her. He'll really miss being able to hold her. Before Shireen, he hadn't had a hug since Rhae left.

"I'm really glad you came." Does she hear the way his voice breaks?

"I-I am t-too." She stutters and his nerves grow even further, sharpening with each breath and clawing up his chest to hook into his throat. Did the kiss scare her away from him?

"You'll write." He orders more than asks. Then he tries to make amends for his abruptness as he buries his face in her dark locks. "Promise me you'll write to me."

"I will, I swear."

A stronger knock bangs on the door, and Ser Bronn's grating voice and a routine (not-funny, in Rickon's opinion) barb encourages Shireen to loosen her arms around Rickon. Sensing his unyielding grip, she pushes against his chest gently. Rickon lets go of her slowly and begrudgingly. "We'll see each other again." He says the words to her sternly, half knowing he says it to convince himself of the fact.

She smiles warmly. "We will, one day. I promise."

He burns the memory of her smile into his heart. He doesn't know how she has become so important to him so quickly, but he knows she is, and is certan she will never stop being important to him. He is convinced of this even as he watches from the Eastern Towers the next morning, as the Baratheon-Lannister platoon leaves the gates of the Red Keep. Neither of the older Princes or the King come down to see her gold and black retinue off, and he is happy for it. He doesn't know what he'd do if the other Princes or the King ever came near her. It'd probably involve the sharp end of his sword meeting the soft flesh of their necks, and a disappointed Rhae shaking her head and berating him for giving away their hand prematurely.

 _("One day, Rickon.")_

He spends the next week grieving much the way he did when Rhae left, running through the tunnels with Balerion. Only this time, he hears the echo of Shireen's easy laughter and sometimes imagines the shadows he chases are the girl with the long dark hair and brilliant blue eyes _and kind words and pensive thoughts and protective rebuttals and perfect soul._

Eventually he starts his usual routine again, but in the back of his head he starts to hear her promise too, in addition to Rhae's.

 _("One day. I promise.")_

He eagerly awaits her first letter.

Two weeks go by without it, and the memory of her starts to hurt.

* * *

.x.

 _{Shireen's most recent memory of her mother is a bedridden ghost, hair limp and skin sickly pale}_

If it weren't for Uncle Jaime, Shireen suspects she'd forget the emerald green of her mother's eyes and the straw-spun gold of her mother's hair. After Tommen's death, her mother's health improved somewhat. She wasn't at death's door, but neither was she any closer to the world of the living. She just… slept.

With some exceptions.

After the time she prayed for her brother's death at age seven, Shireen's waif of a mother had a few more episodes of lucidity in front of Shireen. The second episode happened only a year after her first. This time, it had been both Shireen and a handmaiden in the room. Her mother opened her eyes, and Shireen felt so hopeful for a moment, until her mother asked for Tommen.

"Bring me your brother. My son, my son. The heir. Father needs an heir to kill all the dragons that hurt you. Fire. The frog promised. Maggy. Crown. Cage."

 _Lucid_ is a generous term.

Her mother passes out once more before Shireen can say that she is her father's only heir, and before the handmaiden had returned from grabbing Maester Cressen.

Fever speech, is what the Maester and handmaidens continue to call her mother's words, despite her cool forehead.

The third time her mother awakens, Shireen is alone. She never tells anyone what she heard.

"No crown. Don't ever wear a crown. Say no to the crown, do you understand, sweetling? _He'll burn you alive_."

 **{Silly girl, didn't you know the famous words? Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin}**

* * *

 **All the world's a stage**

* * *

 _Tyrion thinks the gods are truly cruel in their entertainment. What a callous jape: to give him his sister only to take her away._

* * *

 _285 AC_

Tyrion and Cersei had a long-standing contentious history for as long as he could remember. Whether it be scorned glances or sharp jeers or foul names, Cersei only ever showed her malice towards him. So when he is summoned to his father's chamber some months after being told that Cersei was pregnant with her first child, Tyion doesn't quite believe what the new drivel his father espouses.

"Cersei _asked_ for my presence at Storm's End?"

"Are you adding deafness to your growing list of shortcomings? _Yes_. That is what I said. Pack your things. You leave on the morrow."

And despite Tyrion's anger at the way his sister treated him in the past, he found himself much in the same place with her as he was with his father; dealing with the ever persistent desire to mean something to either of them. So as much as he considers himself confused by his summons to Storm's End, he is also traitorously hopeful despite his self-recriminations. But when he arrives, and Cersei actually _welcomes_ him with a _smile,_ Tyrion is absolutely dumbfounded. Then he is suspicious. What trick is she playing this time?

Then she shoves an eight-year-old Renly Baratheon at him, and he wonders if perhaps that was her intent? To have him distract the younger Baratheon so she could spin some game with her husband? Tyrion decides that if that is her end goal, he doesn't much mind his role. The Baratheon boy is only six or so years his junior. A bit dour in all honesty, but right chipper in comparison to Tyrion's brother in law. Even though Renly seems more the type for tourneys than libraries, they get on well enough, and overtime become friends.

But then Tyrion becomes more confused. Because if that was his only role, then why does Cersei demand his presence during times without Renly?

.x.

 _"_ _I am to spend my morning in the library." She says directly towards him during his first breakfast in Storm's End. Stannis had already left the table and requested Renly's presence by his side._

 _"_ _Okay," says Tyrion, unsure of how to respond. He chews a little bit faster on his morning mutton, nervous about being in her presence, wary that her disposition will sour to normal now that there are no witnesses._

 _"_ _Well?" She raises a finely shaped brow. "You're coming, aren't you? I seem to remember you living in the library at the Rock."_

 _Tyrion is too shocked to refuse._

.x.

He continues to think on her softening disposition, and begins to suspect it must be her pending motherhood. He recalls reading books saying that a woman's mood is greatly swayed by the growing babe inside of her, and finally attributes her newfound non-malicious disposition towards him on his growing niece or nephew. It is a hesitant, cautious thing, but he finds himself growing more attached to her with each day that passes that she is not cruel to him.

.x.

 _"_ _Is there a reason you're fidgeting so much?" Cersei challenges, a hint of annoyance in her tone._

 _She had demanded that he accompany her during her afternoon walk of the shores. Tyrion doesn't quite know how she noticed his nervousness, when she has spent most of the time during this walk with her eyes on the waves._

 _"_ _I-" Tyrion stumbles, then figures he might as well hear the truth of it, if what he fears is truly to come to pass. "Renly told me Stannis received a letter from father. Will… will you be sending me back?"_

 _Cersei doesn't let her eyes off the horizon. "He still treats you the same?"_

 _Tyrion nods, doubting she sees him._

 _She huffs. "_ _You stay with me until I say otherwise. I'm the Lady of Storm's End; I'll not be bullied into sending you back."_

.x.

She doesn't apologize directly in words for the way she used to treat him, but in actions. Like when she somehow convinces their father to let Tyrion stay longer with her in Storm's End, and when she lets him be the fourth person to hold his niece.

Shireen Baratheon is a cute little bundle; brilliant and bright and perfect. Tyrion tells this verbatim to a very pleased Cersei, who lies on her bed as she and her husband watch their respective younger brothers hold their new niece for the first time. "Of course she is," Cersei says tiredly, but happily. "She's ours."

Renly seems to be the only person who hovers over Shireen even more than her parents, but Tyrion understands when Renly tells him the story of his discussion with Cersei in the library.

.x.

 _"_ _I'm her protector." Renly says, eying his burned hand with a cold stare. "I'm never going to let anyone hurt her." The 'like they hurt me,' goes unsaid, but is easily heard._

 _"_ _Well," tuts Tyrion. "Then I best be one too, lest you steal my title as her favourite uncle."_

 _Renly smirks. "Don't be silly, Tyrion. You can give her as many fairy tale books as you wish, but I'm going to gain her favor forever when I win a tourney and put a crown of flowers on her head."_

.x.

Renly and Tyrion spend exactly too much time cooing over their chubby-cheeked niece together, taking turns promising her the world. It is one such time, as they speak in high pitched voices and mimic animal sounds, playing a game out of who can elicit the most smiles from her, that Stannis and Cersei walk in on the trio. Stannis merely raises an unimpressed brow, while Cersei doesn't even try to contain her snort of amusement at the boys' flaring cheeks.

 _'_ _It's a strange thing,'_ Tyrion thinks, _'to see a man in love with Cersei.'_ For of that there is no question, Stannis loves Tyrion's sister fiercely. The older Baratheon is a taciturn man, but that just makes it easier to see the genuine care he has for his wife, to see how his hard looks and harsh tones soften and smooth the moment she enters the room. Tyrion begins to suspect quite early on that Cersei's change is in part due to her husband, who respects her mind more than their father (and even Jaime) ever did. He sees that easily, when he sees how no major decisions are made by Stannis and his bannermen without Cersei in the room to share her input. In fact, the Stormland nobles seem genuinely taken with her, moreso than those of the Westerlands ever were; even Ser Davos compliments her easily.

.x.

 _"_ _Sharp as a sword, that lady sister of yours." Davos laughs, regaling Tyrion with an instance where Cersei deftly put an overreaching Stormlord in his place._

 _Tyrion nods proudly. "I like to think she gets at least some of her wit from practicing with me."_

 _Davos laughs again, before telling Tyrion how Stannis had backed his wife's decision. "It's a heart-warming sight, though, isn't it? To see how much Lord Stannis and Lady Baratheon trust and care for each other."_

.x.

Tyrion agrees with Davos's sentiment easily. Although Cersei will sometimes playfully badger her husband to get a rise from him (notably, these are the few times Tyrion has ever seen the stern man crack something close to a smile); Tyrion has never even heard the Lord and Lady of Storm's End genuinely fight.

Well, that is, until the day a letter bearing King Rhaegar's seal demands the presence of Stannis and Shireen at court. Tyrion is quickly making his way through the halls (on his way to check in on Shireen before searching out Renly, who was no doubt in the process of doing something recklessly stupid in response to the royal summons), when Tyrion overhears Cersei screaming at Stannis.

It is a hauntingly familiar sort of screeching, the kind she used to ply on him when he tried to befriend her as a child. The ugly reminder of their prior relationship makes Tyrion freeze in his gait. The screaming persists for a few more moments, but then, to his unfettered shock, he hears her _beg._ It makes Tyrion uncomfortable, he has never heard his sister sound so vulnerable.

"Please, please my love. Don't go. Don't take her there."

"We have no choice."

"We do! What can they do to us? Bring their armies? _Let them._ My father will bring his. It will be the Westerlands and The Stormlands and all the sellsword armies we can hire—"

"Cersei."

Tyrion hears multiple thumps, suspects it is his sister striking her husband, again and again. Then he hears her sobbing.

"You'll come back?"

"I'll try."

"Don't even hint at such... such nonsense! You _will_ come back. I'll not be a widow, you'll not leave me. You wouldn't dare." He next words are so quiet, Tyrion only barely manages to hear them. "Promise me."

"I'll not make a promise to you that I cannot keep."

" _Coward,_ " she hisses, with such vitriol that Tyrion shivers. " _You're a_ _coward!_ "

Tyrion respects the fact that Stannis remains cool despite his sister's physical and verbal assault. He knows Westerland lords who have struck their wives for far less. (Tyrion doesn't notice the way his own fists form, how his back tenses; he doesn't realize the way he readies himself to intervene should his sister's husband try to harm her.)

"I can promise you this. Our daughter will return. Even if it costs me my life, she will return to you. I swear it."

.x.

There is no fanfare as the somber Baratheon party leaves the gates of Storm's End towards the King's Road.

As they ride off, Tyrion feels the trembling presence of his sister beside him. His other side is barren; Renly had been confined to his room, after the stupidly reckless boy had been caught trying to take Shireen and leave the castle in the middle of the night.

(From what Tyrion recalls, Cersei hadn't seem too bothered by Renly's actions. It had been Stannis who had sternly reprimanded the younger boy and sentenced him to his room, only to have Renly scream violently that Stannis was abandoning them; that the King would finish the job the moment his brother stepped into the throne room, and they'd all be lucky if they were even sent back his ashes.)

Cersei doesn't move for a long time, and Tyrion keeps his space beside her, even when his legs begin to ache.

"They're going to kill him, aren't they?" she says dully.

Tyrion frowns. "No, they can't. He's a lord paramount, they'd have no grounds. No reason."

Cersei scoffs bitterly. "Kings don't need reasons. Or have all those history books taught you nothing?"

Tyrion stiffens. She's right, of course she is, but he doesn't want to break her heart further by telling her so. Instead, he does what he does best and tries to think of a solution. He hates his mind when he figures one out.

"Perhaps you could go to father?" He hedges. "Convince him to send some Lannister support to King's Landing. If King Rhaegar is reminded that Stannis has the full support of our House, it might just be enough to make sure he doesn't," _kill Stannis and take Shireen hostage_ , "do anything foolish."

Later, Tyrion is beyond glad of his timely suggestion. When he gets the letter from Stannis describing the brutal branding of sweet Shireen… he knows he does not want to be the recipient of Cersei's reaction, and is relieved that she is learning of her daughter's fate far from him. Of course, that relief is a grain of sand compared to the fury mounting in his veins. His eyes burn as he thinks of sweet, innocent baby Shireen, not even a year old, being held down by Kingsguard as they pressed a burning blade to her soft skin, as she cried out in pain.

 _'They hurt her. They hurt her. They hurt her. How dare they lay a hand on-'_

When Cersei returns to Storm's End, reaching her home before her husband and wounded daughter, Tyrion holds her as she cries. He hears her fierce whispers of revenge, and doesn't know what to make of the vicious vows weaved between her tears.

"Father promised… a son… need a son… he'll make them pay for hurting her."

.x.

 _292 AC_

The gods are cruel, he thinks, to have his sister warm towards him only to rip her away.

Tyrion knows something is wrong by the way the servants leave and enter the birthing room with hurried whispers and bloodied hands.

 _'_ _She'll be fine,'_ he tells himself, as he hears the cries of a babe. _'Cersei is strong.'_ She survived two stillborns, she will survive this.

And yet the servants still leave and enter with even faster steps, and he hears the Maester ordering _"more towels!"_ too often. _'What are they using them for?'_ He thinks inanely. Because, of course, he knows the answer. But the thought of his sister bleeding to death on the other side of the wooden door is an ugly and unforgivable one. So he ignores his logic and focuses on little Shireen, who is only seven and has either hand clasped between her uncles', as Stannis stands unmoved at the spot closest to the closed door, his blue eyes hard and unyielding.

Maester Jurne comes out, and Tyrion's head is racing, but he thinks the Maester says some nonsense about saying goodbye.

Wait, goodbye?

 _'Oh.'_

Stannis's stone face remains intact as he extricates his daughter from Tyrion and Renly, as the man turns and enters the birthing chamber.

Beside him, Renly starts to shake.

"Not now." Tyrion orders sternly, fists tight and back straight, standing taller than he ever did. "They need us."

A few minutes later, little Shireen stumbles out of the room. Her eyes and nose are dripping, her eyes are webbed red, and her back seeks support by pressing into the door as it shuts. Tyrion tries to stay strong, he does. He is just about to approach his trembling niece, when the grave silence is interrupted by the quiet sobs of Stannis Baratheon.

.x.

"She wishes to say goodbye to you as well."

Tyrion nods, pointedly ignoring the swollen eyes of the lord paramount.

"Where is Renly?"

Tyrion swallows the lump in his throat twice before trusting his voice to respond to Stannis. "He took Shireen to her rooms."

The older man just nods wearily. "I'll retrieve him. Cersei wishes to say… goodbye to him as well. And Shireen, too. She was... her eyes were closed when Shireen was in the room."

Tyrion wants to say that the servants can easily retrieve Renly, but then remembers that Stannis is, and always will be, a soldier. He is the type who needs orders, needs things to do, as a way to handle his grief.

Ser Davos seems to think the same, as he offers to accompany his Lord to the little lady's rooms.

Tyrion waits until the duo turn the corner before he approaches the room. When he finally steps through the entryway, the first thing he sees is the servants in the background trying to clean the bloody cloths away. And perhaps the visual is supposed to be improving, but the stench of death still persists. His eyes stay on the background as he approaches his sister. When his eyes finally turn towards her; paler then she's ever been, eyes glazed in sickness and fever, body limp under the sweat-drenched sheets, he tries his best not to cry.

"Do not let him become father," she says quietly, weakly. He suspects he only hears because his height places him so close to her head as she lays ailing on the bed.

"I won't." Tyrion swears. Because he understands. This child has killed her, the way Tyrion once killed their mother, and she fears her loss will poison Stannis; that her husband will grow to hate their son the way that Tywin Lannister hates Tyrion.

"Protect my children. Protect Tommen. Protect Shireen. Protect her." She orders. Her eyes dull even further, but she seems to fight it.

 _'You are so stubborn, even at death's door,'_ Tyrion thinks fondly, with no little degree of admiration at her strength.

"Promise me, Tyrion."

"I promise."

She had been his tormenter for most of his life, but in that moment she was, above all, his sister.

"I'm sorry." It takes a moment for him to register her words. And isn't it just ironic? She finally says the words he has always secretly wanted to hear from her, but they bring him no sense of satisfaction. All he feels is a bitter sense of sadness. "Sorry for how I treated you. You're good. Much better than I ever was. Teach them to be strong, like you were."

.x.

Given the sickly state of her mother and new brother, Tyrion is unsurprised to come across little Shireen in the Sept.

What surprises him is finding her at the stone feet of the Stranger.

(Sweet and precocious Shireen, _'the Heart of Storm's End'_ , who gleefully requests stories of sea queens and naiads, who chases him down in he library to show him her letters, who calls him smart with admiration in her warm smile, who cried whenever he had to make trips back to the Rock, and who beamed whenever he returned.)

"A rare deity to prey to," Tyrion says slowly, suspicion whirling in his gut. "What are you asking for, Shireen?"

"I'm telling him to take my brother and give me my mother back."

Shireen doesn't even hesitate when she answers, her voice harsher than the Lannister ever thought the sweet girl capable of. _'_ _You truly are your mother's daughter,'_ Tyrion thinks sadly. Because for all his niece's inherent sweetness, there is a vengefulness to her that is entirely Cersei Lannister.

Tyrion sighs, hoping to step in and save his nephew from the toxic relationship he had with Cersei before she wed Stannis. "He is your brother—"

Shireen scowls, standing quickly. Her scarred cheek ripples as she yells. "He is a _beast! A_ _murderer!_ Every breath he takes he steals from my mother!"

Tyrion isn't proud of the fight that ensues, but at least he thinks he got her to understand. After all, in the coming days, he doesn't see her at the Sept before the Stranger anymore. And when Tommen Baratheon dies, Shireen weeps.

.x.

It is a quiet evening two weeks after Tommen dies. It is also only a week after Jaime leaves Storm's End (and Tyrion refused to, because _'Promise me'_ keeps him up at night). It is on this evening that Tyrion again accidentally overhears a conversation.

He had been about to open the door to Cersei's room, ready to once more regale her sleeping form ( _sleeping form_ , because what else does he call the unconscious almost-corpse of his sister?) about the day's events (Shireen's so smart, Cersei. She has all the houses and banners and words of five kingdoms memorized). Instead, his hand stops on the wood, when he hears the croaking of Maester Jurne.

"My Lord, Lady Cersei will not return. She stays as she is only because we massage pureed food and water own her throat. My Lord, a mercy kill is our best option now."

Tyrion's gut wrenches. He stops breathing. He is just about to barge into the room, screaming that the only person to be killed is the vile Maester, when he hears Stannis's quiet - but firm - response.

"See her breathing, Maester Jurne?"

"Aye, my Lord, but—"

"As long as she continues to fight for her life, so shall we." Stannis's voice hardens. "Do _not_ suggest otherwise again."

The Maester sighs. "My lord, I know you cared for her. And she was truly a competent lady, despite my initial doubts. But she failed to give the House an heir. My lord, even if she survives this, her womb is destroyed. She will not be able to bear you sons. She serves no more purpose. I speak with only the best interest of House Baratheon; it would be more prudent to consider taking another wife."

Maester Jurne is sent packing to the Citadel that very evening, and Storm's End greets Maester Cressen when he arrives a sennight later.

Tyrion is quite happy with the new Maester, considers Cressen an upgrade, actually.

(He realizes then, that he can be quite vengeful too. For all his father's mutterings, Tyrion is a Lannister after all).

.x.

Tyrion is wholly uncertain of how to react when, about three weeks after Prince Jon's birthday Tourney ends, he sees a letter addressed to him, sealed by red wax in the shape of a three-headed dragon.

* * *

 **And like Tyrion proves himself a Lannister,**

 **Rickon proves himself a Targaryen.**

 **That is to say,**

 **in the worst of ways.**

* * *

 _298 AC_

It was Easel who complained about the shit on the streets of Flea Bottom. Rickon isn't sure at all how to tackle that issue initially, until a week or so after Shireen's departure, when he recalls an offhand comment made by her.

( _"… he put my uncle in charge of all of the drains and cisterns at Casterly Rock … He did such a good job, that even my father hired him to fix the sewers at Storm's End!"_ )

Shireen.

His chest aches and his fists clench at the thought of her.

 _'_ _Why hasn't she written me yet?'_

He dodges the cold grip of that worry by focusing on bettering Flea Bottom for his friends. Only, not really, because as much as recruiting Tyrion Lannister is to help clean the sewers lining the streets, it has a more self-serving purpose as well.

( _"That's how smart he is. He's smart enough to turn anything around."_ )

Unlike the clinic, which Rickon supported with his own funds, hiring Tyrion Lannister to revamp the drainage system of Flea Bottom needs to be approved by the Small Council. And so, Rickon prepares a proposal and attends a Small Council meeting, intent to convince the King's hand of his plan. Rickon is thankful that the King is once again shirking duty to be off drivelling about prophecies with Maester Tarot. In fact, it's been so long since he has seen the King, Rickon has begun to forget his face. ' _Now, if only I could forget his voice.'_

 _("I chose your mother, and yet you breathe…")_

The members of the council seated around the oblong table are each piqued by his proposal and admittedly thorough plan.

Lord Commander Hightower, who Rickon has often practiced with in the training yards, smiles encouragingly at Rickon's proposal. Rickon quite likes the man, Rhae did too.

Next to the Lord Commander, fellow Reachman Lord Garlan Tyrell smiles as well. But his green eyes seem too cunning. They appear to be inspecting Rickon for his secondary goal, and Rickon thanks Rhae once more for training his mask to endure the considering stare of the Master of Ships. Rickon uses the trick she taught him, and keeps himself unbothered by reciting houses and allegiances and relevance. _'Lord Garlan Tyrell. Second son of Mace Tyrell, married to Desmera Redwyne, only daughter of Paxter Redwyne, who owns the largest naval fleet in Westeros.'_

Grand Maester Pycelle just wheezes some nonsense, and it takes a great deal of self-control for Rickon not to role his eyes. What a snivelling sycophant. Why Rhae pretended to tolerate him, Rickon can't even begin to fathom.

The Master of Coin, Lord Kevin Lannister, nods along easily and his back straightens in pride when Rickon proposes Tyrion as the best candidate for leading the project, as the man did such a fine job in the Westerlands and Stormlands.

The infamous Lord Varys eyes Rickon with a strange gleam to his small eyes. _'The Spider,'_ Rickon thinks, with no small hint of malice. After all, Rickon knows exactly who whispered to the Kingsguard that he and Rhaenys were trying to escape in the night, all those years ago. _'Before she was exiled, before she was ripped away from me.'_ However, the rotund man is the first to vocalize support for the proposal, so Rickon decides to temporarily ignore their past and the hidden meaning behind the robed man's contemplative stare.

Lord Alliser Thorne – the Master of Laws, who always seems more interested in training recruits than discussing politics – deems the entire time spent discussing Rickon's proposal a waste. He urges the Hand to let the matter to be voted on quickly, so that they can return to discussing more important matters. Namely, the training of the City Watch recruits.

Speaking of the Hand, Rickon is unfortunately well familiar with Jon Connington. Their relationship has been one riddled with distaste covered in niceties. How could Rickon not hate him? Here stands one of the only fools in the entire Realm who disliked Rhae.

 _("He disliked my mother," Rhae says quietly. "So when she passed, I inherited his ire."_

 _"_ _But why?" Four year old Rickon asks, bewildered. "How could anyone dislike you? You're amazing. Or even your mother, when the stories say she was wonderful."_

 _Rhae smiles sadly. "Jealousy can easily make a monster from a good man."_

 _Rickon frowns. "He dislikes you for your mother, but then why does he dislike me? Did he dislike the Second Queen too?"_

 _His sister frowns at his address of his birthmother, but she has long since stopped trying to encourage Rickon to call Lyanna mother. One could only beat a dead horse for so long, after all. "I suppose he disliked Lyanna as well," she concedes.)_

Rhae hadn't elaborated at the time, but now that Rickon is older, he understands well enough. The King hates him, and Jon Connington will never go against the King's will. So, he knows that Connington doesn't like him, but he also knows that the veteran is considered fair and amenable to sound reasoning. And, making use of his sister's lessons, Rickon is certain to propose his plan in a manner than ensures a certain… implication.

"Of course, I ran the idea by some of the smallfolk, and even some nobles, to get their input. They all readily agreed that it was an important priority to them."

 _'_ _Deny me, and you deny them. If I leave here unsatisfied, they'll know who refused them, and they'll let the others know too.'_

.x.

Tyrion Lannister finally arrives at the capital a few days after his summons, and about a moon's turn after Prince Jon's nameday tourney. To the Lannister's utmost surprise, his summoner greats him in person at the port.

Tyrion smirks to cover his nerves, as he leaves the ship and approaches the young royal. "I hear you've got shitty streets, Your Grace."

The lion's words are a bit of a test. Prince Rickon doesn't seem flustered or insulted. Rather, the tall boy (is he really only three and ten?) smirks back. "I hear you have incomparable experience in dealing with shit, My Lord."

Tyrion suspects he will grow to like the young prince, despite his family name.

Rickon nods his head towards the direction of Flea Bottom. "Well, if you're not too tired from your journey, let's walk through the streets. You'll soon become familiar with them, I'm sure. We can grab some food as I introduce you to some of the men you'll be working with."

Tyrion raises a brow, prompting further explanation.

Rickon's cheeks flush as he elaborates. "Well, there are many men down there capable of labouring and in need for work. I figured we might as well hire them?"

Tyrion nods approvingly. "Well thought out, Your Grace."

Rickon shrugs. "Please feel free to call me Rickon."

"Well, alright. But, you can only call me Tyrion once you buy me a drink."

Rickon laughs. "We'll be meeting up with Gendry and Old Man Osim first. Gendry's a bit of a grump, and Old Man Osim's more than a bit of a grump. But you'll never find a better smith than Master Mott, and Gendry's his apprentice, a great smith, and an even better friend. A right pessimist at times, but pretty fluffy underneath all the scowling. Old Man Osim on the other hand, well, he's a right scheming bastard at times. But you kind of have to be to work on the street of lumber. They'll get you oriented with the crew we recruited, over a pint at the Lattice, if Easel's in a good enough mood to actually let us in, that is."

 _'_ _Dammit,'_ bemoans Tyrion. _'I like him already.'_

.x.

Rickon's smile is strained. "Tyrion, you've written up the final plans in less than a week. I'm not sure if that is a testament to your genius, or a testament to my poor hospitality. Are you that eager to leave King's Landing?"

Tyrion pats the lad's arm to dispel some of the tension. "Don't worry Rickon... your city's whores are much too high caliber for me to make haste with my departure."

Rickon's shoulders unwind at his jesting, and his curly topped-head shakes in amused disbelief. "Oh, good. So you'll stay until its completion?"

Tyrion nods. "Of course, I always intended to see the final product. And who knows, we might encounter issues that need solving. And Seven knows that prickly old bastard Osim won't be a lick of help _solving_ problems."

.x.

"I've heard you like reading books."

Tyrion nods, taking another generous swig of his ale. "Yes, and I've heard you like swinging swords."

Rickon huffs out a laugh. "Well tell me then, what are the tomes that are worth my time, and which are the ones that aren't worth the parchment?"

Tyrion gets through a whole list of them, before they are interrupted by Gendry. The muscly lad approaches their table, asking for Rickon to come to the shop.

"Just a few questions regarding that side project you commissioned a few weeks ago," When Gendry sees Tyrion, he swiftly tags on a "Your Grace," much to Rickon's apparent exasperation.

Rickon grins, eyes teasing as he stands from the table and tosses a few coins beside his empty plate. " _Oh, well._ Look at that. Tyrion, I guess you'll just have to check in with Osim's team by yourself this afternoon."

"Oh, joyous day." Tyrion deadpans, before finishing his tankard and hailing over Easel for another.

.x.

Tyrion doesn't much like to judge people by their birth. But he was raised under the brutal regime of Tywin Lannister. As a consequence, Tyrion is vigilant, prone to paranoia, and plainly speaking, not stupid. Something is… _strange_ about Rickon Targaryen. Despite the fact that Tyrion has been offered chambers in the Red Keep, the youngest Lannister isn't dim enough to go anywhere near the King or other princes, including for meals. After all, Tyrion is brother-in-law to the Baratheons, and so hopes to avoid branding-happy Rhaegar and his poison-eyed heir for the entirety of his stay.

In truth, Tyrion had been planning on avoiding all Targaryens. The plan was foiled quite unexpectedly when he docked on the shores of the Crownlands to find an amiable Rickon. Initially, when the youngest dragon accompanies Tyrion to the local taverns and the Keep's kitchens for meals, the Lannister assumes it is the boy trying to be a proper host. And then he offhandedly mentions the boys' seemingly odd behaviour to one of the Keep's kitchen wenches. She looks at him oddly. "Oh, well, Prince Rickon always eats in the kitchens when he's in the Keep, m'Lord."

The comment incurs Tyrion's interest. Why wouldn't a prince take his meals in the dining hall with his family?

At the brothels, he asks and learns more.

"I hear the King and the other princes hate him. Shame, too. I think he be the best of that lot. Well, other than the late Queen Elia, bless her soul. But I hear even the Queen's daughter favoured the Good Prince before she was sent away." The whore says, while lounging placidly on the bed.

"She went to visit her family, I thought?" Tyrion plays incorrect intentionally. In truth, he heard the nobles at the Keep whispering of how Rhaenys had been betrothed to Robb Stark, heir to the North. And so, Tyrion assumed Princess Rhaenys being shipped to Dorne was a way to soothe the southern kingdom after selling Elia Martell's beloved only daughter to Lyanna Stark's nephew.

The whore smirks knowingly instead of responding, and Tyrion sighs before grabbing some more coin from his pants. She grabs then shakes the small pouch eagerly, smiling at its weight. Then she lowers her voice further. "A Keep guard told me the pretty girl wore an ugly bruise that covered half her face. He said that when she left the courtyard, the King didn't come to see her off. Little Prince didn't either, but he also wasn't seen outside the castle for weeks after. Poor thing was probably grieving her. The Sweet Princess all but raised him, after all." The whore's eyes narrow. "It wasn't no _visit_ , no matter how much you nobles try to honey the words. The girl did something to piss off the King, and he punished her for it by exiling her. No one knows what she did though. Just that it must have been properly bad if he was willing to send her _damaged_ to the Viper." She shivers, and Tyrion understands. Oberyn Martell is hardly famous for his forgiveness.

After the Keep servants, nobles, and city whores, Tyrion waltzes through the streets and learns even more.

"The Blessed Prince, he feeds the orphans, y'know? Brings 'em bags of bread and even fruits to the orphanage when he visits."

"He's the Sword of Morning's apprentice, didn't you know? I wan'na be a knight skilled just like Prince Rickon when I'm grown."

"The Good Prince, he started the clinic. Did you know, I heard he even uses his own money, since the greedy shits on the council didn't give him none. He even had his own personal Maester be the first to work there, until the Citadel started sending some of their trainees. My youngest daughter had a foul sickness last year, and she lives because of that clinic, because of Prince Rickon."

Tyrion even visits the hobble shops along the docks, and talks to an especially enamoured red-haired boy who gladly extols the virtues of the youngest prince, continuing to do so even as Tyrion tries to walk away. "He's a _hero_. He saved my Pa's life. _Everybody_ loves him."

.x.

"I think we should build a stage."

Tyrion does a double take at the Prince's random suggestion, ignoring his mead and mutton. "Excuse me?"

"We've some extra lumber, do we not?" Rickon says, shrugging from his seat across from Tyrion. "It would be nice. For the smallfolk to have a stage to host their plays and their fools, their music and their dances; or even just to serve as a fancy and overly large stool for announcements."

Tyrion hums, taps his bowl of _Lattice Lentils_ with his wooden spoon. The idea has merit.

Rickon smirks. "We'll name it after you, if that'll bolster the offer. Perhaps Lion's Scaffold… or Tyrion's Dais..." Rickon smirks before continuing, eyes gleaming in mischief. "Or maybe even the Demon's stool?"

"Now, now, let's not be imprecise. Demon _Monkey's_ Stool, now that rings a little more familiar, a fair deal more memorable too."

It's quiet for a breath, before both of them descend into easy laughter. When it peters out, Rickon gives him a supportive look. "They know you now, Tyrion. They've seen your efforts because you've walked these streets and worked alongside them. I've made no secret of your leadership in this project. When they talk of you know, it'll be in thanks. These people, they remember those who help them. And they return that care and respect in kind."

.x.

And then there is Samwell Tarly, who wobbles as he quickly approaches Tyrion with a trunk load of books.

"For Lady Shireen Barahteon, My Lord." He huffs out. "She requested them."

The boy is bumbling and harmless, but a boy nonetheless. Tyrion's smile is a sharp thing. "I wasn't aware you were acquainted with my niece."

The Tarly boy blushes and stutters, racing through his explanation. "We m-met during Prince Jon's nameday tourney. She has a great mind. Truly. She asked after these books at the time. And I heard you mean to stop by Storm's End on your way to Casterly Rock, so I hoped you would be amenable to delivering them to her, My Lord."

Tyrion looks at the small but heavy trunk and raises a suspicious brow. "Are these from the Red Keep's Library? I do believe there's a royal warrant needed to excuse these from their proper place."

"It's been taken care of, My Lord." The largely girthed boy opens the trunk, showing the ostensibly innocuous contents to Tyrion. "Did you want me to lock it, My Lord, or keep it open for you to peruse during your trip?" Tyrion skims the titles, not seeing anything he hasn't read before, and honestly seeing nothing worth reading again. He really will need to have a strongly worded discussion with Shireen when he returns. Clearly his absence has dulled her appreciation for good literature. He nods dismissively, letting Tarly lock the trunk.

Randyll Tarly's son doesn't leave, and Tyrion lets out an aggrieved and impatient sigh. "Is there some other matter?"

Almost regretfully, Sam hands Tyrion a letter. Open, of course. Tyrion skims the short message quickly.

.

 _"To the Lady Shireen Baratheon,_

 ** _As promised._**

 _Sincerely,_

 _Lord Samwell Tarly,_

 _Maester in Training."_

 _._

"Lad, some advice. Work on your script. I've seen stable boys with neater print than yours."

Samwell nods nervously, and Tyrion just sighs before pocketing the parchment and shooing the almost-Maester away. Tyrion is scheduled to depart within an hour, so doesn't have the time to investigate this inconveniently timed incident further.

 _(Too bad. If he did, he might have realized that every book in that trunk matched the titles he told Rickon Targaryen to be wasted ink, and he would have learned that every book was currently signed out under the Prince's name. If he did, he'd ponder over the harsh edges to the Tarly boy's script. It's an oversight he will recognize many years later, too late for it to matter.)_

.x.

As Tyrion leaves King's Landing, he looks onto the shrinking form of the Red Keep and he reflects. Despite his sleuthing efforts, Rickon Targaryen is still a conundrum. The youngest royal seemed too eager to endear himself to Tyrion, but Tyrion can't put his finger on why.

Of course, years later, he will have his answer. And it will be loudly punctuated by Renly Baratheon storming into Casterly Rock, slamming doors and frothing at the mouth, hissing about a Targaryen Prince ruining their niece.

And later still, Tyrion will remember his inadvertent contributions, when he hears of a Targaryen Prince using the very stage he built to set his beloved niece ablaze in the streets.

* * *

 _ **D** o **y** o **u u** n **d** e **r** s **t** a **n** d **, s** w **e** e **t** l **i** n **g**?_

 _ **He'll burn you alive.**_

* * *

 **End of Chapter 2**

* * *

 _"_ _And everything that's happened… all this horror that's come... it's all because I couldn't love a motherless child."_

* * *

 **If you're enjoying this fic and want to see more chapters, PLEASE REVIEW and let me know! What did you like, what did you hat, what do you want to see? Below are is the** **PREVIEW** **for the next chapter, followed by** **QUESTIONS FOR READERS** **and** ** _RESPONSES TO REVIEWERS_** **!**

* * *

 **QUESTIONS for the peanut gallery:**

* * *

QUESTION ONE: Who you guys rather have a Bran POV or a Robb POV? Also, a Ned POV or a Cat POV?

QUESTION TWO: Does anyone know who is the female actress playing Marlene in this youtube video is? /watch?v=HQ0xqYHG-X0

QUESTION THREE: Oh my dear goodness, but WHO IS THIS ACTOR?! I love him as future Rickon, and have mentally casted him as such (Just with the Stark look)

66 **[period]** media **[period]** tumblr **[period]** com /ea19861879c3fd27ae5fcd2c36e8e937/ tumblr_ovczgmUIEe1vuxqn3o1_500 **[period]** gif

QUESTION FOUR: How do you think Catelyn should receive Rhaenys, a princess so politically the strongest match for her son, but still the daughter of the man who beheaded her father?

QUESTION FIVE: Let's be real. Tywin is hardly okay with the Reparations. What do YOU guys suspect he's plotting? ;)

* * *

 **Responses to Reviewers**

* * *

 **Felon GT** \- Hopefully this answered your question about Cersei! I was intentionally vague in the last chapter. She isn't dead in the literal sense, but Shireen has essentially been motherless since Cersei's been mostly unconscious since delivering Tommen. How did you like Shireen's POV on her?

 **pokemonrot377** **& Guest** \- No, Rhaegar did not actually rape Rhaenys, but he essentially threatened to from her POV. You'll see his POV regarding 'making Rhaenys his Queen' in one of the upcoming chapters ;)

 **EvilBananaPOP** **& ****carlys. love** \- thank you so much for your kind words! Arya and Jon and Gendry are coming up soon, hopefully! How do you think Arya and Gendry will end up meeting in this story? I'll give you a hint – somehow, they still end up on the run ;) You'll hopefully be seeing some of Gendrya in the next chapter!

 **Guest** \- Oh I am SO SO SO glad you brought up Baelish. His fate is coming up! What do YOU think happened? ;) And we'll be seeing some of Jaime and Tywin soon! Hopefully in the next chapter if I can fit them in!

 **Guest** \- I'm so happy you liked the bit with Cersei's realization! I've always thought that a sane Cersei and Tyrion would be a formidable team. How did you like Tyrion's POV? also Darry's POV is coming, but probably not until two chapters from now!

 **green** \- Thank you! Unfortunately, I can't give away all my answers. But hopefully you got some of them with this chapter! What are some of the questions you have?

 **kurotenshi-08** \- thanks! I tried to give you some more CerseixStannis and Rickon and Rhaenys, what do you think? :)

 **Mari Wollsch** \- Thank you! What part did you like the best?

 **Lightningscar** \- thanks for your opinion re: their ages and capitalizations. I've tried to insert them more in the dialogue, and I'm shoving the timeline to the beginning of the chapters. Hopefully you enjoyed the callbacks to FleaBottom :) Good point regarding fighting prowess. I don't typically write fight scenes, but I can definitely see how I should have considered that earlier! I'll definitely try to be more explicit about that in upcoming chatpers! And don't worry, we're not done with Arthur and Lewyn yet ;) Hopefully you enjoyed Rickon and Shireen! To be honest, I really enjoyed Rickeen fics where Renly was a true uncle to Shireen, and I figured Tyrion would treat her much the same way he treated Myrcella and Tommen in cannon. Did you like Renly and Tyrion's friendly little one-uping? I wanted to explore their dyanmic more as 'the younger brothers' but I figured this chapter was already late enough LOL. I know Jon seems like such a shirt, but his POV is coming and the way he treats Rickon WILL be explained. I'm trying not to make his motives too obvious because that'll ruin the fun. But I put a hint in one of his previous interactions with Rickon ;) Thank you for such a thorough and helpful review. I love reading reviews with so much feedback, it really helps me grow as a writer and it's such a heartwarming thing to know someone cares enough to spend the time writing such a detailed review!

 **JohnL117** \- Thank you! The Vale has their own plot in the works, don't worry ;) Much like the Martells in cannon, they've got plans. They just weren't in a position of power at the time of Jon's execution to act on them at the time (i.e. they had just lost the war, and needed time to regroup and let their enemy forget about them as a threat). What do you think the Vale's plotting? ;) I promise, Jon's upcoming POV will answer questions! I'm just trying to figure out where to slot it in!

* * *

 ** _Preview_**

 ** _(flashes of upcoming chapters)_**

* * *

 **As a misplaced aside: Chapters 2 a,b,c, and d were initially planned out as one chapter. Can you believe it? Like I literally have no self-control when it comes to managing my writing.**

…

So when Jon Connington approaches Rhaegar, claiming that Ned Stark has agreed to take on Rickon as a ward in the North, and drones on about how it would ease Rhaenys's transition, soothe northern tensions that still rang high, etcetera, all Rhaegar hears is that Rickon will finally be gone.

So he agrees without hesitation.

If he paid more attention to his Hand's concern instead of his prophecies and his ghosts, perhaps the King would have registered the part where Jon suspected that Rickon was becoming more beloved than Aegon even amongst the nobles.

…

Jaime wonders if his foolish wife realizes she whispers another man's name in her sleep.

…

There was something about her interaction with Rickon that had humanized this fabled girl. Had allowed Robb to see a tender, vulnerable part of her. And had spurred a longing to have her warm affection directed towards himself. And, by the Old Gods and New, she was the most beautiful woman Robb had ever seen.

…

"Lord Sam and I taught you your histories well, Rickon. Surely you remember Orys and Argella?

Rickon freezes. "This is different, Rhae." He whispers. "Shireen is…..

….I know a part of you already belongs to her. But remember her loyalties, Rickon." _Remember yours._

…

~ If Lord Tywin was searching for an excuse to be rid of you, you've surely served him that.

~ Jaime adores Shireen, because she is the last piece of Cersei he has left…It is why he keeps her secret.

~ Robb recoils. "I'd never hurt you." / Rhaenys smiles bitterly. "I wonder if the King made pretty promises like yours to my mother when they were betrothed too."

~ First, Rhaeny learns how to weaponize Elia face. Second, Rhaenys learns how to weaponize Rhaella's body… "Are you drunk?" / "Not so much that I don't know what I want."/ "And what is it that you want, my Lord?" She eyes him warily. "A kiss. Just one. From the beautiful girl who'll be mine forever."

~His face is shocked, in disbelief and betrayal, even anger. Rhaenys feels her heart race viciously as she understands the repercussions of her stupidity. He is all she has to protect herself and her brother from the current King, and she has just jeopardized it all… Her gut twists… fearing what he will demand as payment for his protection…

… Don't be naive... Do you think Princess's are spared from their husband's anger?

~Bran appears hesitant to broach his topic… "Lady Shireen is already at the Reach…. she would be an appropriate bride to consider." … If this is truly something you want Bran, then I will write to Stannis.

...

Ser Brynden scowls. "This could end in war, Bran!"

"It was always going to come to war, uncle. I just put our families on the right side of it."

Brynden sighs deeply, and for once the lines on his face appear deep, and the fabled Blackfish looks his age. "There is no such thing as the right side of war, Brandon."

Bran pauses before responding. "There is a side that bleeds less. And this time, it will be ours."

...

~ Catelyn sighs wearily. "And here I never thought I'd be grateful for Arya's willful nature." The Lady of Winterfell lets out a tired, almost derisive laugh. "But here I stand corrected, thanking the Gods for it…

~ Tell me, does it give you some sort of sick thrill to warm the bed of the family responsible for destroying yours?

~ I know a threat when I see one, Lord Varys. What it is that you want…

~ "Is lying so easy for you now, sweet niece?"

~ "Lady Baratheon, where is your crown?" A sinister voice drawls from behind her. Shireen's blood chills.

 ** _~ "_** ** _The things we love destroy us every time, lad. Remember that." ~ Jeor Mormont_**

* * *

Review, pretty please :-)

(It'll encourage me to post faster and makes me smile :D )


	6. Chapter 3a: castles without children

**DISCLAIMER:** Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of GRRM. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation and anxiety over whether readers will like it enough to review/hate it enough to flame ;).

* * *

 **Updated Timeline**

* * *

 **275 AC:** Cersei hears Maggy's prophecy (in which there is no valonqar)

 **276 AC:** **Samwell** Tarly born

 **279 AC (Year -2)** : **Rhaenys** Targaryen is born. Elia takes a long time to recover from delivering Rhaenys.

 **281 AC (Year 0):** Elia pregnant with Aegon. Maester Pycelle tells Rhaegar that if this second child doesn't die during labour and/or kill his wife, the next one will. Harrenhal tourney (and thus the QOLAB passover) is thus even more shocking because it happens when Elia Martell is pregnant. **Aegon** Targaryen is born. Lyanna 'abducted', Brandon Stark and Rickard Stark die per canon, Robert's Rebellion starts, including Ned's marriage to Cat. **Willas** Tyrell is 2 years old, **Loras** Tyrell and **Theon** Greyjoy are 1 year old, **Renly** Baratheon is 4 years old.

 **282 AC (Year 1): Robb** Stark and **Margaery** Tyrell born. Viserys and a pregnant Rhaelle sent to Dragonstone for protection, but when Baratheons seize it, they run away via ship. Stannis chases them, but due to a storm, cannot find them. They are considered lost at sea and dead.

 **283 AC (Year 2): Jon Targaryen** born and Robert's Rebellion ends. Lyanna Stark crowned the "Second Queen". End of war reparations (infamously known as 'Rhaegar's Reparations') announced. This includes the beheadings of Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully, and Balon Greyjoy; Stannis and Renly getting traitor brands on their arm and hand, respectively; Lannisters paying reparations to the crown; and Tyrells being denied the betrothal of Margaery to Aegon at the time (though Rhaegar tells the Tyrells she is still one of the females to be considered in the future). Ned returns to the North sans fake-bastard. **Gendry** Waters born.

 **284 AC (Year 3):** Stannis marries Cersei Lannister. Elia dies leaving behind three-year-old Aegon and five-year-old Rhaenys. Rickon Targaryen conceived. **Sansa** Stark born to Catelyn Stark. After stint in Maidenvault to ensure she wasn't pregnant with an Aryrn heir, Lysa betrothed to Jaime Lannister.

 **285 AC (Year 4)** : **Shireen** Baratheon (born to **_Cersei Baratheon_** ). **Rickon Targaryen** born (Lyanna dies while giving birth to him). Shireen branded on her cheek. **Arya** and **Bran** – twins – born to Catelyn. Gendry's mother killed.

 **286-291 AC:** Cersei miscarries twice.

 **292 AC (Year 11):** Tommen Baratheon born and dies (leaving Cersei near-comatose). Aegon shoots an arrow into Rickon's back. Rhae arranges for Rickon (six turning seven) to get lessons with Sam (instead of with Aegon and Jon), and for Arthur Dayne to teach him.

 **294 AC (Year 13):** Rhaenys poisoned. Rhaegar agrees to betroth Rhaenys to Robb, but refuses to let Rickon ward there. They try to run away, but are stopped by the Kingsguard. Rhaegar propositions Rhaenys in front of Darry, she declines. She is sent to Dorne.

 **295 AC (Year 14):** Rickon and Sam save a boy by the dock, gaining support of the Brotherhood. Rickon starts his clinic. Wren witnesses Jon and Aegon brand Rickon with a 'bastard's brand' on his leg.

 **298 AC (Year 17):** Shireen and Rickon (age 12, turning 13) befriend each other during Jon's nameday tourney. Shireen promises to write to Rickon. When he doesn't get a letter, he recruits Tyrion to fix Flea Bottom's sewage.

* * *

 ** _STORY SO FAR_**

 **(To reacquaint everyone with prior events and where the characters are currently!)**

* * *

 **Chapters 1, 2a, 2b, 2c:** Please see the beginning of chapter 2d for the summaries of these, no purpose in reposting ;)

 **Chapter 2d summary:** More Rhae and Rickon bonding. Flashback to the night of Rhae's exile, revealing that Rhae has a plan for vengeance. We see memories Shireen has of her mother. She recounts to Rickon (who's she's with in the tunnels) how when Tommen was born, he nearly killed their mother. So, she prayed for Tomment to die in exchange for her mother's health, Tyrion caught her and they had a fight. Shireen reveals to Rickon that her mother has had periods of lucidity, though she doesn't tell him (or anyone) about the time her mother rambled about bits of Shireen's 'destiny,' which involved 'burning alive.' Shireen and Rickon agree to write to each other (Rickon under Sam's name), and Rickon gives her an adorable peck on the cheek. When Rickon doesn't get her letter, after getting approval from the Small Council, he recruits Tyrion to fix the sewage system of Flea Bottom. During Tyrion's POV, we see Tyrion's memories of Cersei and how their relationship improved before Tommon's birth and Cersei's coma. We also see Tyrion's friendship with Renly grow as he spends more time in Storm's End. Stannis swaps Maester Jurne for Maester Cressen after the former suggests they kill Cersei so he can remarry and have a male heir. We see Tyrion's interactions with Rickon in King's Landing, and how he learns of Rickon's treatment and scopes out the public's (very positive) perception of Rickon. After the sewage systems are fixed, they use some of the spare lumber to make a stage in Flea Bottom. Sam gives a package (actually from Rickon) to Tyrion to give Shireen.

 **Members of the small council:** Lord Commander Hightower, Garlan Tyrell (married to Desmera Redwyne) as Master of Ships, Pycelle, Kevin Lannister (Master of Coin), Varys (Master of Whispers), Alliser Thorn (Master of Laws), Jon Connington (Hand of the King, level-headed, cold but courteous relationship with Rickon, Rhae told Rickon that Connington disliked her)

* * *

 **A/N:** I updated the last chapter about 2-3 days after I posted it. Mostly minor stuff and extra emotional tidbits re: Cersei and Renly and Stannis from Tyrion and Shireen's POV, but two plot-important things (not vital IMO to getting the story as a whole, but are ways to help figure out the future motives of characters):

(1) Rickon's POV on Pycelle during the small council meeting

(2) I recommend re-reading the interactions between Tyrion and Rickon in Tyrion's POV, especially the one where I added in Gendry.

 **A/N 2:** As always, **responses** to reviewers and **preview** of upcoming chapters at the bottom. If you catch any mistakes, please make note of them and let me know if a review/PM!

* * *

Unfortunately, because of formatting issues on ffn, I can't use strikethrough. So, the bolded and underlined words are **'crossed/scratched out' **in the letters written between characters. If someone knows how to use strikethrough on the fanfiction doc manager, please let me know!

* * *

.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

x

 _"What is honor compared to a woman's love?_ _What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms…_ _or the memory of a brother's smile?_ _Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love._

 _That is our great glory,_

 _and our great tragedy."_

 _~Aemon Targaryen, A Game of Thrones_

x

.x-X-x. **|*|**.x-X-x.

* * *

 **.x.**

 **Wolves Aflame**

 _Chapter 3: castles without children_

 _(Blots & Brothers & Betrothals & Betrayals)_

 ** _Part 1_**

 **.x.**

* * *

 **They learn to read between the lines**

* * *

 _298 AC_

 _"Dear Lord Samwell,_

 _I cannot apologize enough for the delay in my letter. I am so utterly, sincerely sorry. By the time I reached Storm's End after my departure from the capital, it was late nightfall. I planned to ask my father to allow our correspondence the very next morning. But my plans were foiled even before my arrival at our gates, as my grandfather had already requested my father's presence at Casterly Rock. Father had only been waiting to depart Storm's End until Uncle Renly and I returned from Prince Jon's nameday tourney. I didn't even know my father was departing until I was woken at dawn to say my goodbyes! Father was supposed to return to Storm's End within a moon turn, but then my Uncle Tyrion was called to the capital to, would you believe it, redo the cistern system in Flea Bottom. (The foul smell was appreciable from even the Red Keep, so I imagine the smallfolk are immensely grateful to the leaders of the project. I, personally, am so proud of them for going out of their way to help the people who really need it.) Apparently, father and Uncle Jaime needed Uncle Tyrion to finish sorting affairs in the Westerlands, and so had to await Uncle Tyrion's return (delayed further because Uncle Tyrion detoured by Storm's End to see me before journeying back west to Casterly Rock) before my Father could finally return to Storm's End. It's a very convoluted tale, but it is the reason for such a long delay in this first letter to you. I promise you I sent you my letter at the soonest moment I possibly could have, literally minutes after I received my father's approval._

 _Speaking of my Uncle Tyrion, I cannot begin to convey my thanks to you for keeping him entertained and cared for in the capital. I promise you his safe return means more to me than any piece of jewelry; thank you dearly for looking out for him. Oh, but please don't mistake me to be ungrateful, because the necklace is the loveliest gift I have received in a long time. The delicate metalwork is so fine and I find new details to indulge in every time I stare at it. But, please, please, please, do not feel as though you need to encourage my responses with gifts; just continuing my friendship with you means more to me than you can know. Also, I must say, presenting the necklace within a nest of books was a very thoughtful gesture._

 _Having a constant reminder of our friendship makes me smile; I shall keep the necklace with me always._

 _Apologetic and eagerly awaiting your response,_

 _Lady Shireen Baratheon_

 _Daughter of Lord Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End"_

.x.

 _"Dear Lady Shireen,_

 _I'm so glad that you still want to correspond. I was **sca** nervous when I didn't hear from you for so long… I feared I had upset you with **the k** my actions prior to your departure._

 _I saw how deeply you cared for your family during your too-short stay here. You talked of them all so fondly, and Tyrion really was a likeable man with a wit you clearly inherited. Even if he and I did not get along, I would never have let any harm come to him, knowing it would have hurt you._

 _Now that we are writing, I find myself first embarrassed by the horrid state of my print, and second, at a bit of a loss as to what topics to write to you about. Everything feels important but not important enough. How was your trip back home? Are you enjoying being back in the Stormlands? How was your day? Have you read anything noteworthy? I imagine the books I sent you weren't too engaging (they were more to ward away curious eyes). Those tales about sea queens and Stormland tales you were talking about while you were here, on the other hand, sounded much more interesting. Could you tell me more of them?_

 _Keli misses you._

 _Your friend,_

 _Lord Samwell Tarly_

 _Maester in Training and Son of Lord Randyll Tarly"_

.x.

 _"Dear Lord Samwell,_

 _Surprised perhaps, but not upset, not even close._

 _Again, thank you. My family means everything to me, and I would do anything to ensure their wellbeing._

 _I admit with a teasing smile that I sometimes resort to squinting and rotating the parchment of your letter to make out your words, but I'm certain your letters will improve with every correspondence._

 _The trip back home was rather long, but bearable with the unending entertainment provided by Ser Bronn nettling Uncle Renly for his loss against Ser Loras in the jousting tournament. I fear Uncle Renly might actually have called for Ser Bronn's head, had Ser Farring not been there to mediate and halt my Uncle's more volatile responses. Honestly, the entire time we were visiting the capital, Ser Bronn was either guarding me or goading Uncle Renly._

 _The Stormlands are as fiercely beautiful as the bards sing them to be. I hope one day you can see them._

 _My day was rather dull. There aren't any other children of age with me to play alongside here, so I admit to feeling a bit lonely and bored. Unfortunately, there are no tunnels to explore nor cats to chase. I broke my fast with Uncle Renly this morning, attended lessons given by my Septa and Maester, ate my midday meal with my father, and then walked by the shores alongside Ser Farring. I also spent some time by my mother's bedside, reading aloud to her. Unfortunately, it wasn't one of the tomes in the package you kindly sent. I read the ones you gave that I hadn't yet encountered, and like you said, was not overly engaged by the plots nor word work of the authors. Then again, I suppose not every tale can be as controversial (and thus inherently engaging) as The Testimony of Mushroom or Maester Lorchem's Lies Behind Legends._

 _I would love to tell you every one of the tales I know and have created of the creatures within the waves around Storm's End. My mother and I, we used to go on these long walks on the shores, where we would tell each other stories. Perhaps I'll give you one with every letter. I'll start with the very first, I suppose. Have you heard the tale of Elenei and Durran?_

 _Durran Godsgrief was the first Storm King, and founder of my ancestral house, House Durrandon. During the Age of Heroes, he earns the love of Elenei, who is the daughter of both the god of seas and the god of wind. Her parents forbade their love, so when Durran and Elenei sought to wed, her parents devised a massive storm that tore apart the castle and killed all the wedding guests. Durran and his wife only survived because of her magic. Seeing the blood of his family and friends on what was supposed to be a joyous occasion, Durran declared war on the gods. Battle after battle raged. Elenei continued to use her magic to protect the duo against her parents' malevolent storms, while Durran continued trying to build a castle that would withstand her parents' fury. Each time he built a castle, it was destroyed. But he persisted, and he succeeded upon his seventh attempt (which - depending on who you believe - was assisted either by the children of the forest, or by a young Bran the Builder.) Since it was built as a shield and barrier against the storm gods' wrath, the castle was dubbed Storm's End._

 _Hopefully this tale wet your appetite for the rest._

 _Tell me, how goes your training? You mentioned you were going to approach your mentor to see if he would formally accept you, how did it go? How are the pies and other sweets in Flea Bottom?_

 _Your Friend,_

 _Lady Shireen Baratheon_

 _Daughter of Lord Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End"_

.x.

They correspond back and forth, never going more than a week without news from the other. Weeks pass, then months, then a year. And each time a raven leaves, its sender eagerly awaits a reply. Rickon's print even improves, much to Sam's pleasure.

* * *

 **He is old now, but he was young once.**

* * *

 _299 AC_

From the communications tower in Storm's End, Colthor Cressen stands before an unkindness of ravens. He holds one closed letter aside from the rest, and reminisces. Sixty-one years prior, he was born the fourth son of a poor farmer. With limited prospects, and a sharp mind, he joined the Citadel at the age of ten and two. Consequence was not a word he entertained at the time; neither was choice, truly.

Choice was not a privilege known to fourth sons.

 _'And really,'_ Cressen ponders, _'does any child truly have the foresight to consider consequence the naïve age of ten and two?'_

His years training at the Citadel were peaceful yet remarkable. The region remained uninvolved in wars - an impressive feat, when one considered its neighbours were the 'upward designing' Reach and Riverlands. Both of those had been notorious in their involvement in multiple wars in history, as well as infamous for the battles at their borders by opposing forces. The Citadel, however, remained blissfully untouched by history's wars due to its neutral status (since the time of King Baelor), and the veritable barricading of its physical borders during wartime. And so, because of the lack of battles, the Citadel housed some of the oldest original works of architecture in Westeros (in addition to the Guild of Maesters and the largest library).

It was during Cressen's exploration of one such preserved building that he fell in love with a fiery, redheaded washer woman. It was a love that ended up ripping his heart in two; for he had been a registered Maester for the Citadel for three years before he met her. His profession prevented anything from growing of their mutual affection; despite the depth of his feelings, his vows prevented him from marrying her. Instead, he later heard from others than she married a local tavern owner, and then died in the birthing bed.

Cressen blames his own ill-fated star-crossed romance for his decision to support Shireen's continued correspondence with the unremitting Samwell Tarly.

"For a Maester in Training, the lad sure has more time than I did, to be writing to you so frequently," Cressen teases.

"He's quite adept at managing his time, I imagine." Shireen shrugs pleasantly, skinny hands lightly fingering a leather pouch that sits over her sternum, hidden by the velvet of her dress. The plain necklace had become a regular part of her daily wardrobe about a year ago. The pouch at the bottom of the cord held a token of her mother, he remembers her saying to Renly once.

"Or perhaps," he uses a wrinkled finger to nudge her chin up. "You are someone worth writing to so frequently?" Cressen's expression softens. "You have a brilliant mind. It will never be a surprise that it wins the attention of others, child."

Shireen stiffens. "I approach my fourteenth nameday… surely you no longer consider me a mere child?"

The Maester sighs, knowing she discerned his hidden meaning. She always was a perceptive little girl. How could she not be, with all her training under Lord Tywin? "Yes, you are no longer a child, my Lady. And it is because of that, Shireen, that I must implore you. He is a Lord's son, true. But you told me just a moon ago that he has no plans to forgo his mastery exams." He places an old hand upon her slim shoulder. "Shireen, a Maester cannot take a wife."

Shireen's smile is brittle. "I know we could never marry, Maester Cressen. I just… it's… I don't have very many people around my age to talk to." Her voice quiets, and blue eyes turn downwards. "It's nice to correspond by letter. That way, I don't have to play at pleasant conversation while they pretend to not be horrified by my face."

Cressens flinches at her quiet, pained words. Then, he gently hands her the Tarly boy's latest letter. "I understand. Go on then, read your friend's letter and write your response."

The logical part of Cressen knows that he should report the high frequency of their correspondence to Lord Stannis, despite the strong likelihood that his liege lord will rescind his approval for the pair's correspondence. Yet, the emotional part of Cressen wins. Shireen is the kindest but loneliest girl he has ever known. How can he deprive the little lady of the only friend she has ever had?

For a moment, he fears his silence will pave a path for her to run on when her father finally announces a betrothal. However, the moment of doubt is fleeting, and he shakes his head in disbelief at the mere thought of his ever-responsible Lady Shireen ruining her father's name in such a way. Shireen was unfailingly loyal to her family and House reputation.

 _'Shireen knows her duty,'_ Cressen reassures himself. _'Shireen Baratheon is no Lyanna Stark.'_

"I know you've so many letters to see over." Shireen's voice interrupts Cressen's thoughts. He's surprised she had not already disappeared to giddily read her always-anticipated letter. "If you train me in how to receive and send them, I might lighten your load just a little?"

Cressen mouth curls up, shaking his head warmly towards the gracious girl. "Do not fret over my workload, my Lady."

"Maester Cressen, I insist. You do so much for us, let me do this one thing for you."

Later, he will blame his fondness of the girl for his blindness. But really, could you blame him? He never knew Cersei as a child. Cersei, who hid her calculation behind her beauty…

Cersei, whose daughter now hides her plots within her kindness.

.x.

 _299 AC_

 _"Dear Shireen,_

 _I know you probably haven't had the chance to respond to the letter I sent just two days ago, but I figured this would be a welcome surprise._

 _Sorry it took so long._

 _It was worth the read (and the trial of obtaining a copy). Guess you were write about everyone having a story. Happy fourteenth name day._

 _Yours Truly,_

 _Sam"_

.x.

 _"Dear Sam,_

 _I am in complete and utter disbelief. I cannot believe you transcribed the entirety of **'The Testi** 'Mushroom Varieties for Healing' for me. Thank you SO much. Also, my extended thanks for waiting to do so until your writing was legible. To think it only took a year of letters?_

 _That was only me jesting, I promise. Sincerely, Sam, thank you. I'm trembling with excitement to read it._

 _And - to respond to your question in the other letter - I've been teaching them how to read for a few years now. I just don't think it fair, you know? Why should station or circumstance of birth mean you can or cannot read? I think they really enjoy the lessons, and I genuinely like teaching such eager learners._

 _This time, I've decided to tell you the tale of Shaggy and Sōvētēs, a lesser known Stormlands legend. Before the Age of Heroes, the Stormlands were surrounded by multiple inhabited islands. The lands were settled by humans, and the waters around them were filled with different species, including asrais. In the body of water north of the northmost island, there was once an asrai princess, named Sōvētēs. (Quick quiz: do you remember what this means in High Valyrian?) Sōvētēs was beautiful, but strongly felt her worth lied more in her skill with spears than the delicate structure of her face. Her skill was renowned, honed from years of training; she practiced throwing and twisting her spears every day with her royal father, who wanted her capable self-defence Though inherently a man who abhorred war, her father - the asrain emperor - was adamant in her training due to the longstanding war between the asrais and the humans of a northern island. Sōvētēs's peace-seeking royal father wished to betroth her to the already twice-widowed human king of the island. The human king, however, took joy in cruelty. He excitedly told the princess that he would steal all her weapons once she wed him, lock her in his castle, and never let her return to the sea. Sōvētēs was torn. She loathed the idea of marrying the king, but, feared that ongoing war between their species was costing too many lives. And so, she sacrificed her freedom and wed the king. She sold her freedom for a crown, for the chance to protect her family and her people. The king did everything he said he would, and worse. She even discovered that the king killed his previous wives for entertainment, and feared she would be next. She made multiple attempts to leave, but was foiled and punished by the king every time she tried to escape._

 _Her salvation came in the form of her old friend, a sea lion named Shaggy. He was called Shaggy due to his riotous mane. (_ _I can hear you rolling your eyes from leagues away. Y_ _es, Sam, I know sea lions don't have manes, but this is a story. ) Sōvētēs met the sea lion as a child. Years prior, while training on her own, a young Sōvētēs heard a pained yelp nearby. She found the sea lion trapped amongst tangled seaweed, and she took many painstaking days to help him escape his cage. She knew she would be in trouble when she returned home, but could not abandon him. Once she finally untwisted the last chain around Shaggy, he promised that one day he would return the favour._

 _Three nights after Sōvētēs gave birth to her son, the king made his first attempt on Sōvētēs's life. However, what the cruel king didn't know, was that Shaggy had already thrown a spear through the open window of the birthing tower the night prior. (Again, story; don't you know that if you keep rolling your eyes, one day they'll get stuck behind your head?). And so, Sōvētēs used her spear to defeat the vile king, and ended an intergenerational war. She reigned as regent until her son came of age, and then, seeking the comfort of home and trusting her son, she returned to the sea where she taught other female asrais the art of the spear. This is why asrais, both female and male, are known to wield weapons. Some say that the seaweed that still washes upon the shores of Storm's End are remnants of the cage from which a young Sōvētēs freed Shaggy._

 _I know the tale is a stretch in many ways, but I've always held a peculiar fondness for it. Perhaps, because, rather than Shaggy rescuing Sōvētēs, he equipped her to save herself._

 _I kind of liked that._

 _There is a sadder version of the tale. In that tale, Shaggy's spear pierces_ _Sōvētēs in the heart, intentionally, to spare her from the King's cruelty. In that version, the shells of Storm's End are actually the fragments of her shattered heart. I don't like that version at all._

 _Ser Farring is once more demanding my presence at lessons. I hope to hear from you soon. I'm so sorry that your trainer has once again declined to officially name you as his student. I know you've been asking him for a year, and this time must have especially hurt since the prospect seemed so hopeful the last time you asked. I'm sorry I cannot be there to help you through this. And I know you often like wandering through mazes with Keli when you're sad, but I feel like trying the pies from Flea Bottom might make you feel better too? Please give them a try, I cannot bear the thought of you suffering alone._

 _With Care,_

 _Shireen"_

* * *

 **Rickon's print did grow neater,**

 **but their anonymity grew sloppy.**

 **(remember the word consequence?)**

* * *

 _300 AC_

 _"Dear Shireen,_

 _I know I only just sent you a letter the other day, but I have exciting news that could not wait. The youngest prince is to foster in the North, with the Second Queen's family. The Hand approved the prince's request readily once Lord Stark agreed. It means **I** he'll be less restricted in his communications than before, which means he can still stay in contact with **y** his friends – like me – during his time away. He told me he would send **y** me a letter once he settled there, and that he wanted **y** me to respond by sending letters to him directly to Winterfell afterwards. **I** He says he plans on learning how to send his own ravens from Winterfell's maester, so he can send them unrestricted, like how you and I do with each other now._

 _Perhaps there is a relief in being leagues away from the other **roy** responsibilities in the capital, and **I **he is looking forward to meeting his cousins, uncle, and aunt. However, I think his primary reason for fostering there is ensuring that they receive his sister well when she arrives in two years to be wed. _

_He misses her dearly, more and more every moment they stay apart._

 _Always yours,_

 _Sam"_

* * *

 **"Half my father, and half Brandon. Rickon will be his name."**

 **.x.**

 **When Prince Rickon removes his helmet, Ned freezes.**

 **The boy is Brandon come again.**

* * *

 _300 AC_

Eddard Stark does not have fond memories of the South. Instead, he has a chaotic, uneven patchwork of painful flashbacks, all too often triggered by daily tasks. When he watches old Rodrik Cassel adjust Robb's grip on a blade, Ned remembers Jon Arryn teaching him the same maneuvers. Then, like one thread pulling another, Ned remembers the dignified way that Jon approached a wooden block, the dreadful whoosh of a sword slicing Jon's neck, the way his mentor's blood continued to gush from the severed stub until it sputtered out. When Ned's boots slosh into the mud around the godswood pools, he remembers heavy mired down boots as he maneuvered through an undulating sea of metal bodies smelling of iron and salt, remembers the silent pause of battle before Lewyn's blade felled Robert, and the thud of his best friend collapsing into river bank sludge. Sometimes, when a serving girl or visiting noble has pin-straight black hair, Ned guiltily remembers the trembling voice of a violet-eyed Ashara Dayne whispering, _"perhaps we'll find each other in another life."_

Worse than the firsthand recollections from the rebellion are the 'memories' of what Ned never saw. Those the ones that feed his nightmares, tender meat to the mouth of a ravenous beast. Behind his eyes, sometimes, brazen Brandon storms through the gates of the Red Keep and challenges Rhaegar to 'come out and die'. Other times, he smells the putrid stench of his father's boiling body as it roasts in its own armour. And when eight-year-old Arya clings to Ned's stomach, sobbing because of a cruel name by Sansa, hissing into his tunic of how she wishes she never had a sister... Ned sees Lyanna's final moments in a bed of blood, alone, believing herself a pariah among her remaining family.

 _("I cannot stand the sight of you.")_

His last words to Lyanna haunt him to this day. Both shame at those words, and of how he left his sister in that palace of ruthless schemers. Ned despises how his own actions (and inactions) fed the peoples' dislike of her. _'They called her the Duty-Dodger Queen,'_ Ned knows, _'whose own family refused to attend her coronation, and whose own family saw her as a selfish mummer.'_ Though none ever dared speak ill of Lyanna in his presence, Ned knew of the whispers echoing in the halls of even Northern Houses. He could have banned those whispers entirely, brought any perpetrators to face his justice…

But anytime the thought of censorship came it was beaten down by the image of a passionate Robert loudly declaring that he would save the love his life, by the memory of an annoyed-but-amused Rickard Stark reprimanding a mischievous-but-charming Brandon, by the recollection of the warm feeling in his chest when Jon Arryn resolutely called his banners instead of ceding his wards to the Mad King's malicious grasp, by the knowledge that Lyanna could have spared thousands of lives had she informed him of her true intention with Rhaegar, instead of letting them all go to war for a lie.

 _("A letter, Lya...just a few words...")_

Even now, the purposeless loss of life burns him, but his heart aches despite his bitterness. Regardless of her actions, he will forever hate himself for how he left things with his sister, for not having the strength to forgive her while she still breathed. The shame, hate, and regret - all of those unforgiving emotions amplified when he read her final letter to him fifteen years ago. At the time, her message never disclosed the rapidly declining state of her health. Thinking he had the luxury of time, he wasted two days mulling over his reply. He remembers sealing wax on the letter, his quill inking 'L' and 'y' onto the parchment's fold before a knock interrupted. Maester Luwin entered his solar pale-faced… with a letter from the capital announcing his sister's death.

He locks his never-sent letter in a cabinet within Winterfell's solar.

Ned contemplates how to make amends for years before offering Prince Jon the opportunity to foster at Winterfell. The offer resulted in a strange and brief correspondence. Jon's initial response seemed eager to journey North, but his follow up letter emphatically (and concisely) stated that the prince did not wish to leave his home, and that he would be very busy in the future with his training, which would leave little time for continued correspondence. Ned suspected Jon declined the offer and further communication so ardently because of how Ned treated the boy's mother.

After being declined Lyanna's son, the capital sates Northern relations with a promise of Elia Martell's daughter, much to Catelyn's simultaneous abhorrence and glee.

 _"A princess, Ned. A girl who is royal through both her paternal and maternal lines. I should be so happy; there could be no finer match for Robb… an impeccable pedigree for our grandchildren, directly hailing from four of the Great Houses... and yet…"_

 _Ned's hand closes on his wife's, and she continues voicing her unease with an unsteady whisper. "Her father killed mine, Ned. How can I ever look past that? When she walks through our gates, how do I even bring myself to manage anything close to a smile for someone whose family butchered my own?"_

 _Ned gently pulls Cat close to his chest, and lets her tears wet his nighttime tunic. "You need never forgive the King for his actions, Cat." He places his hands on her cheeks, wiping the salty shine with his thumbs while guiding her gaze up to his. "But, we cannot blame the child for her father's actions."_

And so, tie between North and South made, Ned redirects his time and efforts locally. He spends solar hours handling the political nuances of the North (which ends up involving procurement of a different ward), settling disputes between Northern houses, as well as strategizing with his bannermen to strengthen stores for the next Winter. He does not think much more on his sister's Southern children. And since Jon so fervidly declined, Ned did not extend a warding offer to Lyanna's youngest.

Another regret to add to his growing list.

.x.

 _"Dear Lord Stark,_

 _Despite my Southern upbringing, I understand that Northern lords appreciate direct requests in lieu of the long-winded speeches and pretty flattery that saturate capital discourse. So if you'll indulge my directness, I will be blunt._

 _My sister, she means the world to me. Princess Rhaenys raised me, protected me, and is kinder and more gracious than conveyable by even the most generous songs the bards sing of her. I have heard nothing concerning about the character of Lord Robb, but it would soothe my anxieties as a brother greatly to befriend the man who will soon serve as my sister's protector._

 _And I admit, I also have a personal desire to get to know my cousins, and see the birthplace of the woman who bore me._

 _For these reasons, I ask you consider fostering me as a ward of Winterfell. If you respond with your agreement by letter, I shall see to the King's approval._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Prince Rickon"_

.x.

Ned wastes no time penning his reply, though he does delay sending his response until declaring his intention to Cat. His wife's easy support is a welcome surprise.

 _"Oh Ned," Catelyn's warm eyes crinkle slightly at the edges as she smiles. "He wants to ensure the wellbeing of his sister; there is no lady in the realm who would begrudge him that, not when so many dream of the same consideration from their own fathers and brothers."_

 _A memory of Lyanna and Robert clamours behind Ned's eyes. Ned had cared, hadn't he? Had ensured Lyanna would be with someone who loved her? ("Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature.") Ned pushes away the wailing cries of Robert's bastard daughter in the Eyrie, of Lyanna's cries to wait ("…an entire lifetime trapped and unhappy with that drunken, unfaithful–")_

 _"Moreover, the prince is of age with Bran," Cat continues, pulling Ned from the past. "Seven knows, perhaps Bran's dour mood will improve with the arrival of a new companion, with someone to distract him from Arya's absence."_

 _Considering Bran still refuses to offer more than begrudging one-word responses to his parents despite it being over a week since his twin's departure, Ned very much hopes so._

.x.

 _300 AC_

The prince arrives in Winterfell on a dreary day. Thick grey clouds and a progressively worsening drizzle leave a frazzled (but eternally prepared) Catelyn swiftly instructing the placement of large drapes over the courtyard areas where the Starks and household members will await the guests' arrival. The dark cloths become heavy with water quickly, but there is no time to arrange a more definitive solution.

The distant rumble of horses grows louder, until a party of ten spills into Winterfell's courtyard.

Ned expects the mermen decorating the newly arrived group. Prince Rickon initially docked in the North via ship at White Harbor, from where a letter by (a rather besotted) Lord Manderly gave Winterfell (Catelyn) a week to finish any last minute preparations for the prince's welcome feast. Given Lord Manderly's ambition and his letter, Ned _expects_ the mermen saturating the prince's retinue. What Ned does not expect is the _lack_ of southern knights.

The heavy trotting halts, and the only visitor without a merman emblem on their chest easily swings off the center horse. The armoured form approaches the line of Starks with a straight back and gliding pace. A metal helmet covers the lad's face from the rain, but his regal bearing divulges the boy's identity.

Ned kneels, followed immediately by the rest in the courtyard.

"Your Grace," he intones, "Welcome to Winterfell."

"Lord Stark. Please rise," responds a much deeper voice than Ned anticipated. "I'll not have my family kneeling in mud for me."

The Lord of Winterfell stands, followed by the rest of the courtyard. His mouth opens to invite the boy inside, but the words hook into the flesh of his throat when his gaze meets the un-helmeted face of his nephew. Ned appreciates Cat's gasp, for it confirms the implausible image before him.

His nephew… this boy…

 _'He cannot be a Targaryen, not when he is Brandon Stark reborn.'_

At four and ten, Lyanna's son not only mirrors Ned's long dead brother, but Rickon's easy smile and amicable manner are so exact in their replication, that Ned almost misses the boy's next words.

"Might we take refuge inside the castle before the weather worsens? The drapes are helpful, but I imagine introductions by a hearth's warmth will be better appreciated by my cousins than having to bear the rain for ceremony's sake."

"Of course, Your Grace." Ned wants to say more, but ghosts consume his mind. Thankfully Robb – after directing confused looks towards in his stilted parents – graciously offers to lead the prince and his Manderly escort into the Great Hall.

Fireside glow makes Rickon looks even more like Brandon. Brown hair and grey eyes, a broad build that Brandon inherited from their Umber grandfather, and an amicable grin. Ned blinks away a memory of Brandon teaching Benjen how to set a spark with steel and flint, and starts introductions. "This is Lady Catelyn Stark, my wife, and originally a daughter of House Tully."

Rickon nods, bowing at the waist. He gives a friendly grin as he rises. "Lady Stark, you are as beautiful as fabled."

Catelyn pauses from her stupor to curtsy in return. "You're too kind, Your Grace." His wife smiles, but Ned sees the pain of the past beating behind her eyes.

"This is Robb, my eldest."

Robb, seventeen, nods solemnly. "Your Grace."

"My sister's betrothed." Rickon's easy grin stays, though his gaze sharpens. "I'm keen to size you up, cousin."

Robb's mouth curves upwards, his eyes brighten at the challenge. "I've heard you're skilled in combat… for your age."

Rickon smirks, finally giving a nod back. "On the 'morrow, then, when the weather's turned." He shrugs, voice playful. "I'll even give you the first swing, to account for the sloth-ness of your aging joints."

Robb barks out a laugh, and even Bran's mouth quirks upwards.

Ned introduces Sansa next, who quickly performs a perfect curtsy that has Cat beaming in pride. "Your Grace," Sansa smiles kindly. "Welcome to Winterfell. We are eager to host a prince of such noble heritage and remarkable skill."

Rickon bows in the manner he did for Catelyn, the way Ned remembered was typical of Southern knights. "Well met, Lady Sansa. Your elegance and graciousness are a boon to your household." The practiced words leave the lad easily, though Ned gleans a slight discomfort. The boy seemed more at ease trading jibes with Robb than Southern niceties with Sansa. _'Odd,'_ thinks Ned, _'given his upbringing.'_

"And our youngest, Bran."

"Since I've no need to threaten you," Rickon drawls, "I imagine we'll get along smashingly well."

Bran smirks as they meet arms. "Even better if you best Robb tomorrow, and then show me how to do the same."

"Oi!" Robb reaches behind a mortified Sansa to cuff Bran behind the head. "Show some respect to your elders, heathen."

"Bran! Robb!" Catelyn promptly chastises, shooting quelling looks at her sons. "At least attempt to maintain your courtesies." His wife lets out a little exasperated huff. "With Arya gone, I'd thought the impropriety in this house would be as well."

Bran's light mood sours instantly.

Ned sighs. "Our youngest daughter, Bran's older twin, is currently away fostering."

"Don't make it seem so benign, _father,"_ Bran scowls, fists clenched at his sides. "When you and mother sent her away to punish us both."

"Bran, that's enough." Ned sternly reprimands, fed up with Bran's sullen attitude and rude snark, both persisting despite Arya's departure two moons ago.

Lyanna's son tilts his head, seeming to re-evaluate Bran. "My sister was sent away from me too." Rickon's focus noticeably diverts, before he shakes himself back to attention. "I understand." Returned from what seemed to be an unpleasant trance, the smile that the prince offers Bran is a slight curve of the mouth. It's small, yet Ned suspects it is the most genuine expression the boy allows all evening.

At Cat's pointed look, Ned continues. "And this is Lord Theon Greyjoy, youngest brother of Lord Rodrik of the Iron Islands. Theon is in his second year of fostering at Winterfell."

The tall, dark-haired ironborn steps forward cautiously. "Your Grace." His bow is abrupt, a bit jerky, and hesitant. In a way, Ned understands. Rickon's father called for the death of Theon's own. Ned previously talked with Theon as he did with Cat, but Theon still seems to struggle reconciling that Rickon is not to blame for Rhaegar's actions. _'Or perhaps,'_ Ned thinks, more closely observing the older boy's guarded approach, _'he worries Rickon is as mercurial as Rhaegar was.'_

 _("Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin...")_

"Lord Theon," Rickon says smoothly. "I'm glad to make the acquaintance of another ward of Winterfell. It's reassuring to know another has survived the infamous climate," the prince lightly jests.

Theon's caution persists, despite the prince's attempt at connection. Rickon sighs, takes a small step back, and then calmly speaks loud enough to be heard by all present in the Great Hall. "I'll be blunt; I hear its appreciated north of the neck. The King's so-called 'reparations' gauged the realm of many good men." The prince's gaze flickers between Theon and Cat, before grey eyes meet grey. "And the war incited by the senseless actions of him and his second wife, more-so." Rickon's meets eyes with some household members lining the periphery of the room, like Jory and Hullen, before returning to Theon and Cat. "Some platitude or an apology from me does nothing to fill the aching void their absences have left you with, but I offer one anyways." He steps closer to Theon, once more. "I am truly sorry for your losses."

The prince then offers an arm to Theon, who meets it easier than expected. A poignant silence breathes for a moment, before the boy turns back to Cat. "And please, Lady Stark," his voice turns playful once more, as if deeming the mood too severe. "I've been playing at courtesies all my life in court. I was given a Northern name, and call me conceited, but I prefer it to frilly titles - especially when coming from family and friends." He finishes with a kind glow in his eyes.

Pride stirs in Ned's chest at the boy's genuine _goodness. 'Oh, Lya… you would have been so proud.'_

.x.

Ned embarks on a quick walk around the courtyard, hoping brisk air will re-energize him to power through the remaining paperwork left piled on his desk. Feeling the cool kiss of the wind on his skin, Ned appreciates the reprieve from the ominous leaning tower of tasks (as well as the reprieve from the whispers of unread words rasping behind a cabinet door). Ned displaces the thoughts of unfinished work and the forever unsent letter by determining the whereabouts of his children and wards. He tries to recall Rickon and Bran's plans from the morning meal, something about riding before sparring with the others.

 _"You're only delaying your defeat," goads Robb, as he points a fork in the direction of the departing duo._

 _Bran turns back towards the table, brow raised, and responds by-_

"Prince is more Stark then Targaryen. Entirely Stark, I'd say!"

The stray comment pulls Ned from the morning to the present. The Lord of Winterfell turns his attention towards the source at the other end of the stable. _'A young stable hand, perhaps?'_ Interest piqued, Ned keeps to the shadows.

He overhears another – older – voice snort. "Lord Stark the most reserved man I ever seen. The prince made a scene and grinned as big as the Greatjon during his first appearance 'ere, definitely not _entirely Stark_."

A boisterous laugh identifies the third participant easily. _'Hullen,'_ Ned thinks fondly, before his chest tightens at the master-of-horse's words. "Now, now, Norbon. Don't you stand there all grouchy and tell me Lord Brandon wouldn'ta acted the exact same as the prince."

"Aye," Nostalgia warms Norbon's gruff words. "Too easy to see a feisty and sweet-talking young Lord Brandon where the dragon prince stands." Ned strains to catch the older man's next words. "Can't imagine how painful the next few years are going to be for Lord Stark though, with the ghost of his dead brother walking through his halls."

.x.

Norbon's words ring true. Initially, all Ned sees when he looks at Rickon is Brandon. But it's not just his appearance that pulls at Ned's chest. Rodrik Cassel claims Rickon fights like Brandon, Catelyn claims the boy carries Brandon's charisma, and Ned himself recognizes the wolf blood that once rushed through his siblings' veins. Slowly, Ned starts separating the two, and over time, he notes the differences between his older brother and Lyanna's son.

.x.

 _"Hopefully you don't need to best him before you get to wed his sister," Theon jokingly nudges a sweaty and defeated Robb. "Or you'll be stuck a maid forever." Theon's smirk persists, until Robb half-heartedly shoves the ironborn into the next spar._

 _"Let's see you at it then," Robb huffs out, still trying to catch his breath._

After the prince bests both Robb then Theon, Rodrik Cassel loudly and enthusiastically exclaims that Rickon fights "just like Lord Brandon did!" The prince's victory over the older boys surprises Ned, who witnessed the spars from his favoured spot on the balcony. Despite their defeat, the two older boys also impress Ned by responding to their loss with a lack of hubris and eagerness to improve, rather than petulance or smarted pride.

 _"I expected skill when he told me he trained under The Sword of the Morning," The beguiled master-at-arms reports to Ned. "But even my expectations were blasted with every spar! Wild as a winter storm, that one, my Lord. He is as fierce as Brandon was, even moreso, I suspect."_

Ned disagreed with Rodrik's assessment. Not the skill part, because possessed Rickon's skill beyond question. Ned disagreed with his master-at-arm's assertion that Rickon fought just like Brandon. There were noticeable differences. Rickon was vicious, yes. But there was a control to Rickon that Brandon never had ( _"Rhaegar! Come out and die!"_ ) The prince had a patience and calculation that reminded Ned… well, that reminded Ned of his father ( _"comport yourself with dignity in the Eyrie, Ned. Try to stay out of fights...But if you have to fight, win."_ ) Rickon was also cunning… almost like a…

 _'Like a snake,'_ Ned realizes.

Rickon calmly lulled his prey into a false sense of victory, let his overconfident opponent leave an opening, then efficiently and aggressively struck them down. Ned wonders who Rickon inherited that shrewd patience from, as neither Lyanna nor the King were known for it.

 **{Silly Lord, the boy's parent strings him along just like yours did.**

 **Only his puppeteer is slowly maneuvering her marionette into a seat of welded swords.** **}**

* * *

"How'd you get so damned good, anyways?"

"Language, Theon." Sansa chastises, almost absentmindedly as she reaches for the desert tray.

Theon waves a hand quickly towards her in apology, but his pitch-coloured eyes stay honed on the prince, and the ironborn's plate remains untouched. "Well? We thought you'd be a pampered, plump thing."

Rickon's applecake stops half way on its journey to his mouth. "Didn't really have a choice in the matter." His gaze narrows on the pastry. "Plump things get devoured in the south."

"Good thing you're so active, then." Bran playfully bumps Rickon in the shoulder, from his spot next to him on the dining table. "With all the applecakes and butter and honey you devour, you definitely would be plump otherwise." Bran's smile turns devious as he stage whispers, "maybe give some advice on control to Sansa. If she keeps gulping down those lemoncakes at the rate she's going, I overheard our oh-so-very-revered Septa tell our mother that Sansa would be the plump one."

Sansa's mortified squeal of indignation, Catelyn's sharp reprimand, and the boys' laughter all successfully steer the conversation towards favoured pastries.

.x.

More than just Ned's wife and senior household vocalize Rickon's likeness to Brandon, charm and all. During the Dustin and Ryswell's joint visit to re-evaluate their tariff plan, Lady Barbary's initial pallor at Rickon's appearance (and Ned's recollection of Brandon's… extra-curricular… pursuits) leave Ned worried over an impending implosion. Yet, Rickon operates with an easy political savvy, navigates her displaced ire easily, and somehow gains her (and her husband's) approval by the end of their five-day visit. The Dustin-Ryswell contingent even extend him a genuine invitation to Barrowtown and the Rills before their departure.

The Dustins and Ryswells are the first of many visitors over the coming moons. With the prince at Winterfell, it is much easier for Ned to request his vassals make the long trip to visit and sort through outstanding affairs. It's an unexpected, but greatly appreciated, benefit of the lad's presence. While deals by raven are doable, having his bannermen come in person greatly expedites the handling of ongoing issues.

Another benefit (expected, but indisputable) from fostering the prince is the close friendship between Bran and Rickon. Bran's persistent despondence after Arya's departure showed no sign of abating until Rickon's arrival. The boys get along famously, and whereas before Winterfell residents claimed Arya and Bran were never seen apart, it is now Rickon and Bran who are always together. The boys spar together, race horses against each other, eat their meals side by side, do homework for their lessons together, and even care for their swords in the Godswood together. Ned had accidentally come across them once, the duo busy conversing while caring for their blades.

 _"They found out I was giving her swordplay lessons in the godswood. My mother was furious. And Septa Mordane – may she rot in her Seven Hells – convinced Mother that Arya needed a 'steady' hand. Said she needed fostering with a 'proper' Southern house, or some such nonsense, to 'fix' her 'masculine' pursuits."_

 _Rickon growls. "That's a shit reason to send your sister away from you, and not fair at all."_

 _Ned overhears the abrupt splash of a rock being tossed into one of the hot springs. "Mother wanted to send her to Aunt Lysa, who's married to Lord Jaime Lannister. For a moment, I thought it was brilliant. I could go with her, squire under Ser Jaime, and learn from the youngest man to be knighted into the Kingsguard. I could even still find a way to give Arya lessons when no one was looking, I was sure. But father refused right away. He still strongly dislikes the Lannisters because of Lord Tywin. Father and mother fought for hours over it in his solar. I eavesdropped, and heard mother nearly convince father to send her to the Tyrells. I know the culture of the Reach, and knew she would have been miserable amongst their perfumes and delicate dances."_

 _Ned hears another rock splash into the water._

 _"So I interrupted. Said that the Northmen would revolt if Robb married a Southern princess, Sansa married a Southern lord, and Arya warded South as well. I suggested to send her to a Northern House."_

 _"Mother lit up. Recommended a house with a son to betroth her to."_

 _Bran pauses, voice pained._

 _"I couldn't let them do that to her. It was one thing to send her off as a ward, another to sell her like cattle to some bannerman. My mind raced with a way to save her, and all I could think of... I told them to send her to Bear Island."_

 _Another splash, harsher this time._

 _"The next morning, they told Arya at breakfast. Told her she would be warding with House Mormont until Robb was married. And when she refused to go, and looked to me to help her, I held my tongue. I was afraid that if she pressed too hard they would send her to the Reach instead. And then my mother…"_

 _Bran hisses. "My mother told Arya it had been my idea to send her there, and she looked so betrayed… and I tried to tell her that it had been to save her from worse. That it would offer her a bit of freedom before father married her off... but all she did was shake her head, and gods, I heard her sobbing later that night in her room, and was too ashamed to defend myself. I just sat outside her door, listening as she cried."_

 _Splash. Splash. Splash._

 _"Father found me the next morning. He told me, as if it would someone help, that her fostering at Bear Island would give her a few years to be free, but ultimately, he hoped to wed her to some less traditional bannerman… like to House Umber, maybe. Or even to Domeric Bolton, since he seemed to get on well enough with her we were children. Said he'd make sure she was wed to someone who made her happy._

 _I told him, no husband would ever make her happy. Either way, it would be selling her to a marriage she didn't want. But he refused to listen, he just kept saying how marrying was her duty for our house."_

 _This time a rock clunks against mud, missing the water._

 _"At dinner that night, Arya didn't come. Father told some longwinded story. Told us how hard it was for him to leave his siblings, but like him, we needed to learn how to be apart and 'stand on our own.' I got really mad when he said that," Bran's voice lowers. "I was so mad that I… that I told him… that maybe if he hadn't left her, his sister wouldn't have run to King Rhaegar for protection."_

 _Bran pauses._

 _"It was a cruel thing to say, I know. But when he said he was going to send Arya away, I hated him. I hated even more how Robb and Sansa just nodded along, paid some lip service to missing Arya but were back to normal within a day of her leaving. I hated how everyone acted like I should just be okay with them taking my best friend away. She's my twin, my other half, we've always been together."_

 _Bran doesn't seem to be continuing. Ned hears Rickon ask, "do you still write to her?"_

 _Bran's response is quiet, disheartened. "For the first few weeks, we wrote each other. But, her letters got shorter and shorter. I guess it stung, that she was out seeing the world and having all the adventures we said we'd have together." Bran clears his throat. "We were always the second best, you know? Robb and Sansa, paragons of Lord and Lady, versus Arya the contrary and Bran the spare. Arya was never the perfect court-bound noblewoman like Sansa, and, even if my parents will never admit it, I'm the spare in case anything ever happens to Robb before he has a son." Bran sighs, voice almost wistful. "Arya and I… We were going to be knights together, legends likes the ones from the Age of Heroes...brother and sister battling enemies, meeting all the Dothraki tribes, sailing the Summer Sea, climbing the Bone Mountains, even exploring west of Westeros..."_

 _For a few moments, all Ned hears is the soft hum of dry cloths slowly cleaning blades. It's a familiar and peaceful lull, broken once more by Rickon. "I think it's important for girls to learn how to protect themselves. Sisters, especially." Despite the casual tone, the prince's next words chill Ned. "I don't think fools realize the inferno they set when they harm a man's sister."_

 _A pause._

 _"Fools catch fire easily."_

.x.

Rickon and Bran grow as close as brothers, arguably closer than even the twins were. Theon and Robb both befriend the prince as well. And (thankfully), the prince side-steps Theon's more… Brandon-like… influences. Theon, who thinks himself clever in sneaking out to Wintertown brothels. Ned thinks back to the last time he caught them.

 _"Come on then, this is my last night before I'm shipped back to the Islands for a month to sit through Maron wedding that bore of a Westerland's girl. A night at Wintertown is the sendaway present I demand of you lot."_

 _"Theon," Robb groans. "You're asking I go to a brothel in front of the overprotective brother of my betrothed. Are you trying to get me gelded?"_

 _"Well, you're not married yet…" Rickon innocently supplies._

 _Ned's eldest son snorts. "Right, like I'm falling for that again. Pretty sure I'm still wearing the bruises from when you_ mistakenly _," Robb emphasizes, "thought I was flirting with Lady Wylla."_

 _Ned senses Rickon's smug grin and sense of accomplishment, despite not being able to see the boys' faces. From the liege lord's position on the terrace above the boys (where he paused his late night walk to eavesdrop on their shenanigans), the most he sees is the quartet's elongated shadows. 'And, really,' Ned thinks amusedly, 'if they're going to be sneaking around, it would do them well to learn to lower their voices.' Ned will impart that lesson once he intercepts their departure. Until then, he's quite enjoying their banter._

 _"Well then,_ Your Grace _," Theon's shadow jokingly swings an arm over Rickon's shadow. "Royal, rich, almost ten and six, but still a maid. Surely I can count you in?"_

 _Ned – despite himself, despite the past year – expects Lyanna's son to give the 'Brandon' answer._

 _"My lord, it's so gracious of you to offer your company," Rickon mocks. "But I'll have to decline, despite your flattery."_

 _Before Theon can counter, the prince continues in a soft - almost wistful - tone. "I have a girl in the south who has ruined any other for me."_

 _Ned's eyes widen, he leans in closer to the edge of the terrace. But, despite Robb and Theon's rather invasive prodding, Rickon never discloses the name. Ned notes Bran refrains from joining the pestering, and suspects his youngest already knows the mystery girl's identity. Bran – as he has become so adept at doing – redirects the conversation. "Speaking of girls whose vengeance we don't wish to invoke... Theon, do you really think Wynafryd Manderly will calmly accept you visiting brothels?"_

 _"So? Let Wynnie get all huffy. She's always on me for something, what do I care?"_

 _"You blushing like a maid makes me think you might."_

 _That mere mention of Manderly's eldest suffices to make Theon loudly assert Wintertown's brothels are "shit anyways," impresses Ned. He mentally notes to write of the development to Lord Rodrik. If the Lord of the Iron Islands approves, Ned will arrange another mermen visit when Theon returns from the wedding of Janei Lannister to Maron Greyjoy. On the receiving end, Manderly's ambition would eagerly snatch Theon as a husband for his eldest daughter (and heir). Although Theon is the third son of a deceased liege lord, Theon knew his way around ships and navies (including the Iron Fleet), was a close friend of the future Lord of Winterfell, friend of the future Lady of the Reach (if Catelyn had her way), brother of the current Lord of the Iron Islands, and now friend of a prince._

 _Yes, Lord Manderly could certainly do worse for a son-by-law._

.x.

Rickon does odd things; things Brandon never did. For example, Maester Luwin sings praises about Rickon's eager attentiveness in lessons, and even reports that Rickon seeks out extra lessons, such as High Valyrian.

 _"I'm told your progress in lessons is laudable, Rickon."_

 _"Thanks Uncle Ned."_ _Red dusts Rickon's cheeks._ _"I have quite a bit to go, though."_

 _Ned raises a brow. "Until what?"_

 _Rickon's cheeks flush deeper, amusing Ned as the boy is so rarely thrown off kilter. "Well, my friend Sh-Sam, Samwell Tarly, he's my maester too. Well, he's a maester in training, but he was my maester. Rhae introduced us. My sister really wanted me to pay attention in lessons. And they both would want me to keep focusing on lessons here."  
_

 _"Speaking of lessons," Bran intercedes. "We're running late."_

Another non-Brandon oddity is Rickon's involvement in affairs traditionally delegated to household staff members. This includes learning the basics of smithing.

 _"Lad's got a solid base of knowledge, from even before he met me. Smart as a whip; he won't ever be duped by no greedy tradesman. Knows how to tell a good blade, that one does." Mikken tilts his head. "He even had some odd questions about some of the rarer stuff, like Valyrian steel war hammers and dragonglass arrowheads," Mikken shrugs. "Must just be the curiosities of burgeoning knights these days, I suppose."_

Rickon's atypical involvement in chores and menial tasks also includes beleaguering the kitchen staff to teach him how to make meals.

 _"The prince be asking me to teach him how to make foraged goods edible the other day, would you believe?" The head cook shakes the ladle in her hand, brown eyes wide. "I ain't let anyone in Winterfell starve in decades, and I sure won't be letting them starve as long as I be standing, you have my word on that, Lord Stark! But, well, he be a prince, so I told him some of the basics, o'course."_

Ned even witnessed firsthand when Rickon requested to be taught raven-sending, back two years ago, less than a week into the boy's fostering at Winterfell.

 _"Maester Luwin, won't you join us for supper?"_

 _"Lord Stark, you're too kind. But I only came to relay the message of Lord Karstark's estimated arrival tomorrow evening. I have some more work I still need to finish in my study."_

 _"Very well then," Lord Stark nods towards one of the older serving ladies. "Nola, would you please bring Maester Luwin a plate to his study. Include some extra lemoncakes, if you wouldn't mind." Luwin might be the only one in the castle who appreciates the tart sweet more than his daughter._

 _The serving woman smiles, nodding. "Of course, mi'Lord."_

 _Luwin smiles in farewell, but before he can take two steps from the dining table, Rickon's voice stops the older man. "Maester Luwin?"_

 _"Yes, Your Grace?"_

 _The boy lightly chastises the man's "overly formal" address, before smiling in a way not dissimilar to Arya, back when she used to weave reasons to be excused from sewing._

 _"I frequently write to my friends in Kings Landing, as well as one of my trader friends whenever he ports at the Citadel or the Stormlands. I saw to my own letters when I lived at the Red Keep. Would you kindly teach me how to do the same with the ravens from here?" A pause. "After all, you've so many letters to oversee, and you have so many other duties that you do for us. You do your tasks so infallibly well, but if you train me in how to receive and send letters, I might lighten your load just a little?"_

 _"Kiss-ass," Theon lightly sing-songs._

 _"Language!" Sansa yelps (and Robb simultaneously pantomimes from beside her, mockingly). Bran does a poor job hiding his snicker behind his spoon, while Lady Catelyn exasperatedly pinches the bridge of her nose._

 _Ned shoots Theon and Robb reproving looks, before turning to his nephew. "Rickon, I doubt it's a skill that will ever bear much usefulness to you in the future. You'll always have a maester nearby."_

 _"Better to know something than not to know it." Rickon shrugs, before the prince's pleading gaze and an acceding nod from Ned earns a smile of acceptance from Maester Luwin._

 _Rickon grins brightly, while Ned roughly pushes down the thought of how he never used to refuse Lya either…_

.x.

If there is one way that Rickon is unquestionably Lyanna's child, it is the boy's _wolf blood_.

Lyanna had a touch of it, Brandon more than a touch, while Rickon has it in bursts. Rather than brothels or elopement, Rickon races, climbs, and goes on hunts for wildlings and deserters. And – of course – Bran accompanies him. Ned witnessed their plotting once before.

 _"And what of thieves?" Bran inquires with lazy amusement, casually leaning against a stable pillar. "Pickpockets?"_

 _Rickon smirks, fingering the sword at his waist. "Don't worry, cousin. You've the protection of my steel and my skill."_

 _Bran snorts as he pushes himself off the wooden post. "And I'm supposed to be reassured by a fifteen-year-old playing knight?"_

 _Rickon shoves one of two packed bags towards his cousin. "Actually,_ two _fifteen-year-olds playing at knight."_

 _Bran laughs, swings his pack and then himself onto his stead. "Well, best get going then, before anyone catches us leaving."_

 _Ned steps further into the stables. As amusing as the duo's plotting was, the last thing Ned needs is another episode like the time the pair wandered off to White Harbor. The Lord of Winterfell keeps his expression stern even as a shocked Bran nearly topples from his horse, and a paling Rickon quickly steps away from his own. "And where," Ned intones gruffly, "Would that be?"_

In some ways, the episode from the stables is an echo of the past: Jon Arryn chastising a hungover Robert for his reckless plans, then chastising Ned for indulging Robert's whims. The parallel is an aching sort of reminder, the kind that leaves Cat with a cooling space beside her on the bed, as Ned wanders about the terrace and balconies under a dark sky, battling the emotions from the past that often threaten to drown him.

Another, increasingly frequent, motivator for Ned's late night walks and afternoon visits to the godswood is the _control_ Rickon seems to have over his wolf blood. Rather than the crutch it became for Ned's siblings, Rickon weaponizes it. Like during the prince's first beheading. Rickon decapitates his first deserter three months after arriving at Winterfell. Two months later, Bran does the same (Ned suspects Cat still hasn't forgiven him for it.)

 _Ned approaches the pair in the godswood, asking Bran to depart so he might speak to Rickon alone._

 _The Lord of Winterfell sits beside his nephew, unsheathes Ice, and joins Rickon in caring for their respective blades. Time passes, and unlike Lyanna or Brandon, there is no mounting tension in the boy's shoulders, nor a premature break of silence with a huff and impatient sputtering of, 'well, out with it then, Ned!'_

 _"You killed your first man today." Ned begins. His calloused hands still care for Ice, letting the cloth clean the blade in a repetitive, familiar motion. The lord's gaze flickers intermittently to his nephew's profile._

 _Rickon pauses his own blade maintenance, before nodding his head and continuing to stroke the cloth against the tempered steel along his leg. "It was duty." He says, resolute. "That man abandoned his responsibilities. He broke the law. I didn't… I didn't do anything wrong."_

 _"Rickon." Ned slowly reaches out to his nephew's shoulder, turning him so their grey eyes meet. Ned notes that though Rickon places the blade on the side, he still maintains a loose grip on the handle. The act makes Ned frown. 'Are you so scared of me, nephew, that you cannot be without your weapon ready in my presence? I am family, yet you keep the blade within reach.'_

 _Ned sighs. "There is duty, and then there is desire. I can tell the difference lad. You_ wanted _to end the man. And I want to know why?"_

 _Rickon's brows furrow. "And I've already said. He broke the law. He was a deserter." The prince's hands fist. "He had a Southern accent." Rickon's eyes leave Ned's, and return jerkily to his blade. "He was probably a rapist or worse." Rickon's eyes glaze over, and he murmurs under his breath. "Actually, there isn't much worse than a rapist."_

 _"You're right, but your motivation was more than that, Rickon." Ned urges the boy's gaze back to his own._

 _Rickon frowns, takes a few moments to consider his response. "I'd... never killed a man before."_

 _Ned nods, encouraging his nephew to continue._

 _"I used to hear knights teasing their squires in King's Landing in the training yards. They'd jeer about how their squires would freeze at the site of their enemy's bare neck. I wanted…" Rickon's gaze hardens. "I_ needed _to test myself, to make sure that I never would."_

 _Ned frowns. "I'm surprised Ser Arthur would say something like that to you."_

 _"I did train under him. But no, he never told me that. It was the knights who jeered at their squires." Rickon's frown turns into a bitter smile. "For all his praise, no matter how many times I asked, Ser Arthur never made me his squire."_

.x.

Perhaps the least worrying of Bran and Rickon's mischief is their desire to race each other up the walls of Winterfell. At least for Ned. Cat, on the other hand, bemoans new grey hairs and repeated bouts of heart palpitations over a 'soon-to-drop dead' Targaryen prince.

 _"Bran! Rickon! You get down here this instant. This, very, instant!"_

 _The boys scramble down, nearly toppling over each other in their haste. Once grounded, they approach Cat's looming figure like two doomed men broaching the gallows. Each tries to set pace behind the other, much to the amusement of those milling nearby, including the chortling pair of Robb and Theon._

 _Cat thoroughly reams out Bran, before she moves her ire on to their nephew. "And what would I do, hmm? When the South asks for their prince back, and I send them a body broken from falling off that godsforsaken tower?"_

 _"Don't worry, Aunt Catelyn." Rickon smiles, the severe curve unlike a maneuvering Arya this time. Instead, the stilted smile is like the one Benjen wore while announcing his plans to join the Night's Watch. "The King would sooner applaud you for my corpse than punish you for it."_

.x.

Cat voices her concerns regarding Rickon's prior treatment multiple times, starting the very first night of his arrival.

 _"Ned… when Lord Manderly mentioned he was sending a party to accompany the prince, I never imagined it was because the prince had not a single member of his own… Not even a single gold cloak!" Her frown deepens, and her voice lowers in worry. "Oh Ned, he does not even have a member of the Kingsguard by his side."_

Cat is not the only one to voice these concerns.

His other children, Theon, Rodrik and Jory Cassel, Hullen, Mikken, Maester Luwin, and multiple other household staff share Cat's observations and report troubling throwaway comments made by Rickon. Even visiting Northern constituents approach Ned with their concerns, from Barbary Ryswell to the Greatjon.

 _"I'm surprised you were able to drag yourself away from the action in the sparring yard, Lord Umber." Ned teases._

 _"Well, I figured I'd join you up here. Get a better view of these green boys playing at war." Greatjon smirks, coming up beside his liege lord. "That nephew of yours had a good go at Osric two days ago. Did you see?"_

 _"It was a thrilling spar." Ned nods. "Your youngest son handled himself well, longer than most do their first time against the prince."_

 _"Aye, he did." Greatjon puffs a bit in pride. "Osric hasn't been beaten by any except Smalljon in a good while. It was good for him to learn that more than just his brother will beat him if his training slacks. But, gods, when the prince laid Osric in the dirt, my boy was near-smitten!" Greatjon lets out a loud chortle, shaking his head in amused disbelief. "In fact, he declared Rickon to be his new best mate."_

 _Ned smiles. "Bran may contest that."_

 _Lord Umber waves his hand in a dismissive manner. "Aye, they'll all make nice once they've got a few tankards in them." He nods his thick neck towards the yard. "Smalljon's getting on well with the Greyjoy too, surprisingly."_

 _Ned lets out an amused chuckle, rolling his eyes at his friend's ongoing belief that all disputes could be settled by ale. In the yard below, Smalljon and Robb circle each other._

 _"Good thing, too, for Smalljon to see your Robb again." Greatjon heaves out a loud sigh. "Boy's been giving me grief over his betrothal to Karstark's daughter. Driving me absolutely mad, that one is."_

 _Ned glances at Bran, who stands between a jesting Osric Umber and Rickon, who both cheer on Smalljon and Robb, respectively. Bran, whose observant eyes hone onto every stance and swing between the fighters. Bran, who even a year after Arya's departure (and being denied squiring in the South), still maintains antagonistic undertones with both parents. "Trust me when I say I can relate to having belligerent sons."_

 _Greatjon's brow raises. "Robb against his betrothal to the Targaryen girl?"_

 _Ned shakes his head. "Not in the least, surprisingly. I think initially the true implication of the engagement never sank in, and once Rickon arrived, the prince did nothing but sing his sister praises." Below, Smalljon take another swing at Robb._

 _Greatjon's entire countenance dims. "I overheard him say something, you know, about his sister…"_

 _Ned steps away from the railing and fully turns to face Lord Umber. Seeing that he has Ned's undivided attention, Greatjon continues. "Osric made some offhand comment about the prince being lucky his father arranged instruction from the Sword of the Morning. Didn't think I'd ever see such a dark sneer on such an easy-going lad, but the prince hissed out 'King Rhaegar' the way Robert used to say 'Targaryen.' The prince growled out that Rhaegar would sooner have seen him 'at the end of a sword' then being taught how to use one. Lad even told Osric that the only reason he had any training at all is because his sister arranged it." Greatjon pauses. "Ned, he arrived in Winterfell without a single gold cloak… not even a Kingsguard."_

 _Ned isn't sure what to say._

 _Greatjon continues. "I heard about it, you know, before we even arrived. Whispers from the others about the prince's treatment at the capital... by his own father." The Umber shakes his head in disgust. "I thought Karstark was just being dramatic, but now I don't think so. You know, when I first heard the prince was coming up here, I had the same reservations the rest of us did. But he's a good lad. More Stark than Targaryen, whatever his name. And he's more one of us then one of them, just look at that direwolf trailing at his feet." Greatjon's gaze hardens, he meets Ned's gaze squarely. "There's a reason he's so skilled, Ned. Remember how we got good? War. Battle. Survival. We had no choice but to be skilled, to protect ourselves… what does it say about where he grew up, that the boy treats each spar like it might be his last."_

 _Lord Umber pauses._

 _"Ned, you can't possibly mean to send Rickon back to that shithole after his fostering is done?"_

.x.

Rickon carries his father's name, but none doubt the prince's Stark blood once a direwolf claims him.

 _A simultaneously awe-inspiring and heart-wrenching discovery occurs during a hunt in the woods. The group (consisting of his male children, wards, Jory and a few other household members) witnesses the first sighting of direwolves South of the Wall in over a hundred years - "a miracle!" according to Jory. And yet, before them lies the carmine corpse of a magnificent beast. A dead direwolf in a pool of blood, having bled out alone in the woods from the delivery of her pups. The gory site reminds Ned too much of his deceased sister to do anything but nod despondently when his children approach him with pleading eyes._

 _"There's six."_

 _"Seven!" Yells Rickon, gently lifting another direwolf, a pup white as snow, from beneath the circular root of a nearby tree._

 _"One for every Stark child and Stark ward."_

 _"This is why Maester Luwin is always harping on you to better your numbers, Robb." Bran shakes his head. "One for each of us, and then an extra," he corrects. "What are we to do with the extra?"_

 _Theon examines the pup cradled in Rickon's arms. "It's a runt," the Greyjoy shrugs. "Don't much expect it to last past the week."_

Contrary to Theon's initial assessment, the runt lives past the first week, and then a second, and then a moon's turn. But it runs into the wilderness three moons later.

 _Bran shrugs, awkwardly patting the thin shoulder of a shiny-eyed Sansa. "Guess Rickon's name for him was apt?"_

 _"Don't be cruel, Bran," hisses Robb._

 _Sansa's words cut off Bran's retort._

 _"But why would he leave? Surely he'll die on his own. Oh, he was so lonely too." Sansa descends into another round of tears, much to the discomfort of Bran. Robb hands her his tablecloth, her own decidedly used._

 _"Perhaps he just needs some time away…" Rickon traces his spoon along the rim of his bowl. "Some time to grow into his own self, before returning to his family." Ned almost mistakes Rickon's words for reassuring until, "or perhaps he just felt more secure away from his siblings? Sometimes it's safer away from relatives."_

.x.

Brandon's grin was a smile; Rickon's grin is a mask. Ned never gets a detailed story of Rickon's treatment by Rhaegar, just hints from stray sentences. However, Ned does hear a story of how his brothers-by-birth treat him, courtesy of a dose of milk of the poppy. Maester Luwin administers some to the prince in order to set his ankle, after a sparring injury.

 _"Maester Luwin noticed a burn on your leg… who did it?"_

 _"Aegon and Jon." Rickon frowns dazedly, laughs darkly. "No one believed me... thought it coincidence that it happened after I beat 'em in training." He laughs bitterly. "The princes are cruel, and the King is cruel and mad... He'd sacrifice us all to the gods... if it meant figuring out his riddles and prophecies... I think he wants Aegon to kill me too, you know? Like how…" his eyes daze further, his speech slows, his words slur; Ned suspects the milk of poppy's effect is growing. "Rhae, for so long… she was all I had…protected me from them... when she saw my leg... she helped me... tried to help me escape... he hurt her… the bruise, I saw it… red eyes and her face blue…he hurt her… sent her away to hurt me… wished I... were the dead one, he said… can't crow...ow...nuh... 'rpse... One day… promised… keeps… her prom-… 'ne...day...puh..lan…jus'... don' wan... na...hur'...Shir...n..."_

 _The next morning, Rickon sits upright on the healing chamber's bed. Eyes focused on stretching his ankle, Rickon asks,"Did I... when I was confused, did I say anything… odd?"_

 _"You said your sister's name," Ned says._

 _"Any other names?" Rickon hedges, eyes focused on his foot._

 _"Your brothers and your father as well. You said other things, as well, but most of it was incoherent."_

 _For a moment, it is quiet. Then Rickon stands up, turning his body to face Ned fully, though Rickon's eyes stay directed towards the space behind Ned's shoulder. "Don't worry, Uncle Ned. You already waged a false war for the Second Queen. I'd rather not have a thousand dead northmen on my conscious. I know you have no choice but to send me back when the King calls for it." His gaze meets Ned's, and he plasters on a wide grin. Ned sees it tremble at the corners. "I've to meet Bran at the stables; I promised him another race once I was cleared by Maester Luwin."_

Ned's nephew doesn't call Lyanna mother, never calls Rhaegar father, and never calls the princes his brothers.

(" _There's a reason he's so skilled, Ned. Remember how we got good?")_

Greatjon's words twist Ned's gut for months after the hefty lord departs. With a heavy heart, the Lord of Winterfell collects the concerns of the others with an inability to act on them. Because, like his nephew so astutely worded it, Ned has no choice. Rhaegar will call Rickon back to the capital after the princess weds Robb, and Ned cannot refuse.

A letter will come, and Ned will lose yet another person he loves to the King.

* * *

 ** _"You have a wildness in you, child. 'The wolf blood,' my father used to call it._**

 ** _Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch..._**

* * *

 _302 AC_

 _Dear Sam,_

 _Do you remember what I told you last? Of the rumours that Uncle Renly was to be sent away? How I said those rumors could go rot? Well, there might just be one piece of good in the awfulness of my father demanding Uncle Renly finish his squiring in the Reach. Well, I mean, of course it's good for Uncle Renly to finish his training, especially since he only came back prematurely from his time with the Tyrells and stayed so long training under our master-at-arms because he wanted to help care for me after my mother's… health concerns. Sorry, I'm rambling. But, what I meant to say, is that Uncle Renly is taking a ship from Storm's End to the Citadel, before making his way south to High Garden. AND HE IS LETTING ME COME WITH HIM TO THE CITADEL! Imagine, all the books! The greatest library in all of Westeros, some of the oldest buildings on the entire land, and, again, the LIBRARY. The Library at the Red Keep with you was wondrous **R** , but oh, just imagine all the tales on the shelves of the Citadel's Library! I'm not allowed to accompany Uncle Renly to the Reach, but I'll at least get to spend some time in the Citadel before having to sail home._

 _Before we venture to the Citadel, we're going to spend time in the Westerlands with my grandfather. I heard Father tell Uncle Renly how something dramatic occurred at the wedding in Winterfell. Apparently it had to do with Aunt Lysa? I won't know anymore until I'm there, where I can sift out the truth from grandfather. But if you hear from your Northern contacts regarding the truth of the matter, and it is safe news to travel, I would not mind being informed. Either way, I think I'll still reach Casterly Rock a day or so before Uncle Jaime arrives, since we're departing tomorrow._

 _And to answer your riddle, I must say, I am disheartened you think it would take me more than a moment to come to the answer. Something that is not alive, but grows and breathes air; something that is not alive, but dies in the cage of water – it must surely be fire!_

 _This time, I'll challenge you with a riddle instead of a story._

 _A master of horses orders four new horses, and gets four other animals instead. The four animals are each in a cage, and are:_

 _~the doe, that always tells the truth;_

 _~the dragon, that always lies;_

 _~the wolf, that always repeats the last given answer (if he is the first one, he randomly says "yes" or "no");_

 _~and the snake, that is so slow that he always truthfully answers the previous question (if he is the first one, he also randomly says "yes" or "no")._

 _The master wants to trade the animals for the horses he needs, but the cages are black walled and he has no way to see through them without the animals escaping. The master calls on his local prince – who he knows to be wise and kind – to figure out which animal sits in which cage. One by one, he asks them "are you the dragon?" After hearing the four answers, the prince only knows in which cage the snake sits._

 _Then the prince asks them in the same order "are you the snake?" After hearing the four answers, the prince also knows in which cage the dragon sits._

 _Lastly, he asks the first animal "are you the wolf?" The answer is "yes", and now the prince knows exactly which animal sits in which cage._

 _Which animal was in which cage?_

 _(Who is in the first cage, the last cage, the cage that answered yes on the first question, and who is in the remaining cage?)_

 _Have fun,_

 _Shireen_

* * *

 ** _...It brought them both to an early grave."_**

* * *

 _302 AC_

Two weeks after the end of Winterfell's wedding celebrations, and about a moon's turn after the Lannister contingent's premature departure from said festivities, Rickon receives an unexpected letter.

 _'It's too soon.'_

Rickon hadn't finished writing his reply to her last letter, it being only a day after Rickon received a letter from Shireen detailing her arrival at Casterly Rock. His heart thuds in his ears when he opens the uncharacteristically uneven folds. He recognizes the change in her handwriting immediately, how the curves seem abnormally rushed and smeared. Dread pools in his gut before he even reads the response.

Dark tear stains spot the spaces between her words, his stomach curdles as he reads.

 _._

 _"Dear Sam,_

 _I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry._

 _I never meant for it to happen._

 _Uncle Jaime knows…"_

 _._

* * *

 **End of Chapter 3 Part 1**

* * *

You've taken time to read over 10k words this chapter, so if you want more of this fic, PLEASE take ten seconds to leave a **review**!

I'm not too happy with this chapter. I plan on redoing it once I finish the fic (I just really wanted to get Rickon up North, so I could get to the drama with the wedding, and the drama AFTER the wedding). I feel like I'm still doing a lot of narrative summary. Any suggestions to improve this chapter are greatly welcomed! Did you like the letters? Was Ned's POV with the flashbacks confusing? How do you feel about Ned's feelings regarding Lyanna?

 **Questions for the peanut gallery**

 **question 1:** Also, do people like me putting the " ### AC" to indicate the year? I went back and did it throughout the fic to see if it would help make the story's timeline more clear, but I'm not sure if doing so just added confusion. Would appreciate some feedback on whether I should continue listing the year, or if you guys think it takes away from the story.

 **question 2** : would you guys rather have a happy ending, or a more realistic bittersweet ending?

 **question 3:** any suggestions for how to revamp my summary? or should I just keep it, as it is?

Answer to riddle (and its origin) can be found here: puzzlefry puzzles /animals-in-cage-riddle/ (please see my AO3 version of story for link if ffn doesn't show the link)

Side note: for any other writers, **FYI**. FFN doc manager does this thing where (based on the time of day I think?) does/does not let you horizontal lines wherever you want. I spent over an hour reformatting EVERY SINGLE ONE of these chapters (because the horizontal line breaks were missing) with extra periods (that made me cry because they like ruined the aesthetic of the fic). Then, I came back to edit this chapter, only to realize that the horizontal line function had been miraculously fixed, and then had to spend another 30 minutes reformatting EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER. _Urgh._

 **Translations**

 _Sōvētēs - Fly_

 _Keli - cat_

* * *

 **Preview**

 **(flashes of upcoming chapters)**

* * *

 **...**

 **I think the realm is quite through with Stark girls stealing married men!**

…

Her grandfather's eyes harden... If you dare conceive a bastard, I will bleed it from your womb. Do you understand me?

...

"Love is forgiveness, that's what you said, right?" ...Her back hits the bedsheets. His legs straddle hers..."You'd forgive me anything, wouldn't you, my love?"

…

So when Jon Connington approaches Rhaegar, claiming that Ned Stark has agreed to take on Rickon as a ward in the North, and drones on about how it would ease Rhaenys's transition, soothe Northern tensions that still rang high, etcetera, all Rhaegar hears is that Rickon will finally be gone.

So he agrees without hesitation.

If he paid more attention to his Hand's concern instead of his prophecies and his ghosts, perhaps the King would have registered the part where Jon suspected that Rickon was becoming more beloved than Aegon even amongst the nobles.

…

Jaime wonders if his foolish wife realizes she whispers another man's name in her sleep.

…

There was something about her interaction with Rickon that had humanized this fabled girl. Had allowed Robb to see a tender, vulnerable part of her. And had spurred a longing to have her warm affection directed towards himself. And, by the Old Gods and New, she was the most beautiful woman Robb had ever seen.

…

"Lord Sam and I taught you your histories well, Rickon. Surely you remember Orys and Argella?

Rickon freezes. "This is different, Rhae." He whispers. "Shireen is…..

….I know a part of you already belongs to her. But remember her loyalties, Rickon." _Remember yours._

…

~ If Lord Tywin was searching for an excuse to be rid of you, you've surely served him that.

~ Robb recoils. "I'd never hurt you." / Rhaenys smiles bitterly. "I wonder if the King made pretty promises like yours to my mother when they were betrothed too."

~ First, Rhaeny learns how to weaponize Elia face. Second, Rhaenys learns how to weaponize Rhaella's body… "Are you drunk?" / "Not so much that I don't know what I want."/ "And what is it that you want, my Lord?" She eyes him warily. "A kiss. Just one. From the beautiful girl who'll be mine forever."

~His face is shocked, in disbelief and betrayal, even anger. Rhaenys feels her heart race viciously as she understands the repercussions of her stupidity. He is all she has to protect herself and her brother from the current King, and she has just jeopardized it all… Her gut twists… fearing what he will demand as payment for his protection…

… Don't be naive... Do you think Princess's are spared from their husband's anger?

~Bran appears hesitant to broach his topic… "Lady Shireen is already at the Reach…. she would be an appropriate bride to consider." … If this is truly something you want Bran, then I will write to Stannis.

...

Ser Brynden scowls. "This could end in war, Bran!"

"It was always going to come to war, uncle. I just put our families on the right side of it."

Brynden sighs deeply, and for once the lines on his face appear deep, and the fabled Blackfish looks his age. "There is no such thing as the right side of war, Brandon."

Bran pauses before responding. "There is a side that bleeds less. And this time, it will be ours."

...

~ Catelyn sighs wearily. "And here I never thought I'd be grateful for Arya's willful nature." The Lady of Winterfell lets out a tired, almost derisive laugh. "But here I stand corrected, thanking the Gods for it…

~ Tell me, does it give you some sort of sick thrill to warm the bed of the family responsible for destroying yours?

~ I know a threat when I see one, Lord Varys. What it is that you want…

~ "Is lying so easy for you now, sweet niece?"

~ "Lady Baratheon, where is your crown?" A sinister voice drawls from behind her. Shireen's blood chills.

 _~ "The things we love destroy us every time, lad. Remember that." ~ Jeor Mormont_

* * *

 **Responses to reviewers**

 **BIG thank you to all five reviewers - you are the reason this chapter is out!**

* * *

 **Lighteningscar** \- really, really good point about the past vs present action. This chapter was a lot more past focused, but hopefully Ned's bit brought some more forward action. The true action will start with the wedding next chapter though! I have definitely been debating a re-write of this fic where I do it all in chronological order, but I might just finish this one first before I invest time in a rewrite! thanks so much for your detailed review!

 **Cknapik10** \- welcome to ffn! hopefully you enjoyed this chapter! Have you tried AO3 as well? Lots of great Robb x Rhae as well as Shireen x Rickon fics on there. thanks for your review!

 **JeSuis** \- thanks so much! Honestly, broke my heart to write the Cersei and Tyrion bonding knowing what was going to happen. There's some hints of what Tywin has got in the works, but it'll be a while before it comes to light ;)

 **Green** \- literally broke my heart to write as well, hopefully you enjoyed this chapter as well! thanks for your review!

 **samerthegreat191** \- all I can say is, keep reading ;) thanks for your review!

* * *

Please review :)


End file.
